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OUNTKX 


.  G  RO  G  K. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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[Chap,  xliv 


AN    UMBRELLA    LECTUUE 


KIT    KENNEDY 

GOUNTBY  BOY 


By 
S.  R.  CROCKETT 

)r  of  "the  reb  axe "  "  lochil' 
"the  gray  man"  etc. 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

A.  I.  KELLER 


HARPER     &     BROTHERS     PUBLISHERS 
NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 

1899 


Br  S.  R.  CROCKETT. 


THE  RED  AXE.    A  Novel.    Illustrated  by  Frank 

IllOlIAKllS. 

Not  only  will  his  faithful  readers  be  satisfied  by  "  The 
Red  Axe,"  but  it  is  likely  to  add  numerous  new  friends 
to  his  constituency. — Pldladdphia  Press. 

LOCniNVAR.     A  Novel.     Illustrated  by  T.  dr  Tudl- 

STRUP. 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  stirring  and  attractive 
story  of  adventure  than  this. — Independent,  N.  Y. 

THE  GRAY  ]\I AN.   A  Novel.  Illustrated  by  Sevmour 

Lucas,  R.A. 

A  strong  book,  .  .  .  masterly  in  its  portrayals  of  char- 
acter and  historic  events. — Boston  Congregationalist. 

Post  Svo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  50  per  volume. 


HARPER  &   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 
NKW    YORK    AND   LONDON. 


Copyright,  1899,  by  Harpeh  &  Brothees. 


.4 U  Tiijhti  reterved. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTKK                                                                                                          «  PAOE 

I.  The  Belle  op  the  Parish 1 

II.  The  Marriage  Lines 11 

III.  After  Eight  Years 21 

IV.  The  Derelict 26 

V.  The  Red  Lion 36 

VI.  Lilias  Armour's  Two  Husbands 41 

VII.  A  Woman  Despised  and  Forsaken 49 

VIII.  Heather  Jock  and  His  Billy-O 57 

IX.  The  Spoils  op  War 64 

X.  The  Sprig  op  Heather 71 

XL  Kit  Kennedy's  First  Fight 78 

XII.  A  Royal  Road  to  Learning 90 

XIII.  AVheels  Within  Wheels 100 

XIV.  A  Strip  op  Blue  Paper 104 

XV.  The  Sheriff's  Officer Ill 

XVI.  Fraternal  Consolation 117 

XVII.  An  Offer  of  Marriage 120 

XVIII.  The  Taking  op  the  Buik 138 

XIX.  The  Roup  of  the  Armours 133 

XX.  Kit  Kennedy's  Sale  by  Auction 140 

XXI.  Ruling  Elder  and  Stone-breakeb 148 

XXII.  The  Two  Tru.vnts 157 

XXIII.  Kit's  Eyes  are  Opened 1G3 

XXIV.  Kit  Begins  to  be  a  Great  Man 169 

XXV.  A  Broken  Heart 175 

XXVI.  Kit's  Kind  Friend 183 


iv  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGH 

XXVII.  Kit  Runs  Away  prom  Home 186 

XXVIII.  After  JMany  Days 194 

XXIX.  On  the  Trail 201 

XXX.  The  Ne'er-do-weel 209 

XXXI.  Kit's  Classical  Tutor 221 

XXXII.  "Penna,  aPen" 228 

XXXIII.  Kit  Goes  Home 234 

XXXIV.  Kit's  Rival 245 

XXXV.  The  Examination  Day 251 

XXXVI.  The  Innocence  of  Betty  Landsborough  .    .     .  261 

XXXVII.  The  Great  Day 267 

XXXVIII.  The  Flag  upon  the  Pine 277 

XXXIX.  Entrance  into  Life 288 

XL.  A  New  Acquaintance 303 

XLI.  A  Kind  Brother ,    ,    .  311 

XLIL  Sponton's o    ....  818 

XLIII.  His  Father's  Son 324 

XLIV.  The  Infidel  Lecturer 333 

XLV.  The  Broken  Hinges 343 

XLVI.  The  Pretty  Girl  Grows  Practical     ....  348 

XLVII.  ]\Iary  Improves  Dick's  Arithmetic 364 

XLVIII.  The  Pretty  Girl  Takes  Charge 371 

XLIX.  Kit's  Mother's  Letter 379 

L.  Baxter's  Folly 384 

LI.  "How  Long,  O  Lord,  How  Long?" 389 

LII.  The  Night-watch 393 

LIII.  Baxter's  Heuchs 399 

LIV.  Walter  MacW alter  Meets  Mary  Bisset     .    .  403 

Epilogue , 406 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


AN  UMBRELLA  LECTURE Frontispiece 

bell's  denial Facing  p.      18 

a  safe  retreat "  22 

a  decided  answer "  124 

"  'mind,  do  not  deceive  me  '  " "  1^2 

kit's  hour  of  triumph «'  280 


KIT    KENNEDY 


CHAPTER  I, 

THE    BELLE    OF    THE    PARISH 

The  world  is  very  fair  at  four  of  the  morning  during 
the  heats  of  high  summer.  The  flowers  which  have  slept 
with  drooping  heads  and  during  a  few  brief  hours  re- 
tracted their  perfume,  as  a  woman  withdraws  herself 
when  she  has  ventured  overmuch,  prink  themselves  again 
and  give  forth  a  good  smell. 

So  at  least  thought  Christopher  Kennedy,  scholar  and 
gentleman,  as  he  aroused  himself  in  the  accustomed  dawn 
to  go  forth  to  meet  with  Lilias  Armour. 

It  was  a  strange  time  for  wooing,  yet  their  only  ;  for 
Fate,  which  takes  upon  itself  to  interfere  with  all  things, 
had  made  Christopher  classical  master  in  the  academy  of 
Cairn  Edward,  and  Lilias  the  daughter  of  his  chiefest 
enemy,  Matthew  Armour  by  name,  farmer  in  the  moor 
farm  of  Black  Dornal,  and  Euling  Elder  in  the  Camero- 
nian  congregation  called  the  Kirk  on  the  Hill. 

For  the  Elder,  having  returned  one  night  from  the 
market  of  Dumfries,  where  he  had  both  seen  and  heard 
Mr.  Christopher  Kennedy,  had  sternly  forbidden  one  of 
his  family  to  hold  any  further  intercourse  with  that  blas- 
phemer and  ribald,  a  man  (so  ho  declared)  as  alien  from 
grace  as  he  was  outlaw  from  the  Covenants. 
1 


2  KIT    KENNEDY 

This,  had  Matthew  Armour  known  it,  was  an  excellent 
device,  only  it  came  too  late.  For  Lilias,  his  sole  daugh- 
ter and  the  desire  of  his  eyes,  was  already  so  holden  in  the 
toils  of  the  schoolmaster's  bright  glances  and  loving  words 
that  not  for  father  or  mother,  kirk  or  covenant,  would 
she  break  the  bond. 

So,  exactly  at  four  of  the  old-fashioned  gold-faced  watch 
which  had  ticked  all  night  by  his  bedstead  in  the  house  of 
Tibby  Allen,  spinster,  gossip,  and  householder  in  Queen 
Street,  Cairn  Edward,  Mr.  Christopher  Kennedy  stepped 
out  into  the  little  white  street  of  the  burgh,  clean  swept 
of  people,  and  with  the  sunshine  flooding  it  silently  and 
emptily  from  end  to  end,  just  as  if  it  were  a  fine  summer 
Sabbath  day  during  the  morning  diet  of  worship. 

That  young  man  appeared  to  consider  it  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  that  he  should  rise  with  the 
lark,  and  betake  himself  to  the  heather  and  woodland  with 
his  botanical  case  at  his  back.  He  offered  no  explanation 
when  he  returned  at  eight  to  his  frugal  breakfast,  though 
he  had  not  brought  back  a  single  plant  and  his  boots  were 
"  a  fair  sicht  to  be  seen,"  as  his  landlady  averred.  "'  AVhat 
wi'  lashin'  through  the  dew  on  the  meadow  and  splashin' 
through  the  dubs  o'  the  moss,  they  are  nocht  less  than  a 
disgrace.  And  how  he  can  for  verra  shame  expect  a  pro- 
fessin'  Christian  woman  to  clean  them  in  time  for  him  to 
gang  to  the  schule  at  nine  passes  Tibby  Allen's  compre- 
hension !" 

But  neither  his  landlady's  caustic  comment  over  the  wall 
of  the  pig-sty  at  the  yard-head  to  her  neighbor  Mistress 
Sheepshanks,  nor  yet  the  window  blinds  which  were  so 
gingerly  put  aside  with  one  finger  to  enable  burghers' 
daughters,  in  extreme  dishabille,  to  speculate  on  what  took 
handsome  Christopher  Kennedy  tramping  along  the  streets 
of  Cairn  Edward  so  early,  had  the  slightest  effect  on  that 
headstrong  young  man. 

Yet  despite  his  early  rising  Christopher  had  been  late 


THE    BELLE    OF    THE    PARISH  3 

at  the  social  club  (christened  by  himself  The  Tuneful  Nine) 
in  the  Cross  Keys  the  night  before.  Yesterday  he  had 
wrestled  all  day  in  the  grammar  school  with  the  stupidity 
and  the  yet  more  irritant  cleverness  of  the  rural  youth. 
He  had  slept  the  short,  broken,  uneasy  slumber  of  over- 
heated blood  and  ungoverned  temperament.  Nevertheless, 
this  morning  he  rose  with  a  certain  elastic  readiness, 
humming  a  stave  of  a  Greek  song  he  had  set  to  his  own 
music  as  he  drew  on  his  clothes  after  a  hasty  bath.  He 
was  ready  to  walk  ten  miles  before  breakfast,  help  Lilias 
Armour  to  gather  in  her  cows,  make  the  prettiest  and 
most  convincing  of  love  in  the  shady  places  of  the  loaning, 
encounter  (if  he  had  bad  luck)  the  stern  eyes  of  her  father, 
and  after  all  be  back  again  in  time  to  see  the  early  'pren- 
tices taking  down  their  snuff-brown  shutters,  and  stacking 
them  in  neat  piles  behind  the  shop  doors  in  the  High 
Street  of  the  little  town,  at  the  exact  moment  when  his 
brother  teachers  were  turning  sleepily  out  of  their  beds  to 
the  music  of  the  morning  milk -cans  rattling  at  their 
doors. 

So,  recklessly,  and  yet  with  a  sort  of  kingly  prodigality 
which  to  many  women  made  him  irresistible,  the  young 
classical  master,  concerning  whose  future  his  professors 
had  entertained  such  great  expectations,  flung  away  with 
both  hands  the  unreturning  gold  of  love  and  youth. 

He  was  easily  first  at  the  trysting- place.  For  half  an 
hour  he  sat  alone,  whistling  and  twirling  a  spray  of  early 
hawthorn  in  his  hand,  on  the  edge  of  the  heathery  bank 
above  the  scanty  pasture-fields  of  the  farm  of  Black  Dornal. 
His  post  of  vantage  was  situated  just  at  the  place  where 
the  great  black  and  purple  flowe  of  peat-muir  overlooked 
with  a  sullen  eyebrow  the  green  fields,  bowering  trees,  and 
white  homestead  buildings  Avhich  till  now  had  closed  in  the 
life  of  Lilias  Armour.  Here  long  day  and  short  day  she 
had  been  happy,  lifting  a  light-heart  carol  level  with  the 
larks,  and  laying  her  head  in  as  lowly  a  nest  with  the  fall- 


4  KIT    KENNEDY 

ing  of  the  night — that  is,  till  Christopher  Kennedy  came 
by  and  the  song  ceased. 

Then  in  a  moment  all  was  changed.  Tlie  old  life  grew 
inexpressibly  dull,  not  to  be  thought  of,  or  returned  upon 
without  a  shudder — a  dreary  waste  of  time  wanting  alike 
profit,  beauty,  or  happiness. 

Lilias,  too,  like  her  lover,  had  slept  but  little  and  lightly 
that  short,  breathing,  merciful  night  of  latest  May.  She 
had  been  making  up  her  mind  to  speak  a  word  of  soberest 
intent  to  the  man  she  loved — always  a  difficult  matter  to  a 
loving  woman,  who  rightly  and  naturally  would  rather  lis- 
ten while  such  words  are  whispered  in  her  ear. 

At  last  she  came  out.  The  quick  eyes  of  Christopher 
Kennedy  saw  her  pass,  a  slender  slip  of  a  maiden  enough, 
athwart  the  dusky  tree-shadowed  farmyard.  Then  she  was 
momentarily  lost  to  sight  as  she  threw  open  the  gates, 
ready  for  the  cows  she  Avas  to  bring  back  with  her  upon 
her  return.  She  reappeared  presently  a  more  indistinct 
flitting  figure,  her  light  summer  print  indefinite  against 
the  fresh  whitewash  of  the  barn  wall.  Then  the  long  green 
loaning  swallowed  her,  and  only  a  fleck  of  shadowy  sun- 
bonnet  nodding  over  the  hedge -rows  or  the  glimmer  of 
swift  whiteness  through  a  gap  told  the  classical  master  of 
the  approach  of  the  girl  who  was  risking  so  many  things 
to  meet  him. 

Eising  from  his  seat  he  went  forward  a  hundred  yards  to 
greet  her,  and  then  stood  aside  in  a  hidden  nook  to  feast 
his  eyes  unseen  upon  her  eager,  untouched  beauty  as  she 
came  towards  him.  For  the  space  of  a  blackbird's  burst  of 
song  in  the  coppice  behind  him,  he  saw  no  further  sign  of 
his  sweetheart ;  but  as  the  song  ceased  he  heard  the  patter 
of  quick  footsteps.  And  lo !  there  she  was  beneath  him, 
her  wide  blue  eyes  looking  eagerly  ahead,  her  hair  confined 
by  a  single  ribbon  as  was  the  custom  of  the  place  and  time, 
then  as  if  resenting  the  restraint  going  spraying  and  ten- 
driling  down  her  back.     Her  lips  were  parted  with  expecta- 


THE    BELLE    OF    THE    PARISH  5 

tioii  and  the  haste  she  had  made  uphill.  Well  might  a  man 
erect  himself  and  hasten  to  meet  such  a  maid  as  Lilias  Ar- 
mour was  at  twenty-two. 

"■  Why,  little  girl/'  he  said,  smiling  easily  down  upon 
her,  "  you  are  late  this  morning.  What  kept  you  ?  I  have 
been  waiting  here  more  than  half  an  hour  !" 

At  the  first  unexpected  sound  of  his  voice  she  caught 
her  hands  together  upon  her  bosom  with  a  little  frighted 
cry.  She  stood  still  a  moment  while  Christopher  Kennedy 
rau  towards  her  down  the  bank.  Then  with  her  hands 
clasped  and  held  beneath  her  chin  she  yielded  herself  to 
be  gathered  against  his  breast. 

There  she  rested  a  little  while  breathlessly  as  in  a  shelter, 
while  his  hand  caressed  her  shoulder  and  was  lost  among 
her  hair.  She  tried  to  speak,  but,  something  suddenly 
choking  her  utterance,  she  j)ut  her  head  down,  and  un- 
clasping her  hands  she  slid  them  up  till  they  rested  on  the 
young  man's  shoulders. 

*' Lilias,  Lilias — dearest,"  he  said,  reproachfully,  trying 
to  look  into  her  eyes,  "  what  is  the  matter  ?  This  is  not 
like  my  girl — to  break  down  like  this.  What  have  they 
done  to  you  now  ?  Have  they  been  speaking  against  me 
again  ?    Well,  that  is  nothing  new  I" 

Then,  receiving  no  answer,  he  submitted  with  a  sigh  to 
the  incomprehensible  nature  of  women  and  let  the  girl 
weep  her  fill,  only  at  intervals  touching  her  lightly  with  his 
hand  upon  the  further  cheek  which  ran  wet  with  warm 
tears.  Once,  too,  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  hair,  from 
which  the  sunbonnet  had  fallen  back,  when  he  had  first 
drawn  her  to  him.  Then  he  took  the  girl  yet  closer  to 
him  and  was  silent  also. 

After  a  little  she  exhausted  herself,  and  rested  quiet  with 
her  face  against  Kennedy's  coat,  nestling  as  a  bird  does  in 
a  safe  covert  in  time  of  storm.  Her  bosom  fluttered  like  a 
bird's,  and  a  sharp  dry  sob  clicked  recurrently  in  her  throat, 
so  that  he  felt  all  her  slender  body  shake  within  his  arms. 


6  KIT    KENNEDY 

"  Noiv  can  you  tell  me  ?"  he  said,  tenderly,  and  added 
notliing  more.  For,  foolish  in  all  else,  this  young  man 
was  wise  in  love — that  is,  if  the  object  of  love- wisdom  be 
to  Avin  other  love,  not  to  hold  it  worthily  when  it  is  won. 

'''Be  patient  with  me,  Chris,"  she  whispered,  "be  very 
patient,  and  I  will  tell  yon  all.  It  is  so  hard,  so  hard  for 
me  at  home.  I  want  you  to  take  me  away.  They  speak 
against  you  all  the  time,  or  at  least  my  mother  does.  My 
father  says  nothing,  but  I  know  his  heart  is  more  and 
more  set  to  hate  you  ever  since  that  night  he  saw  you 
in  Dumfries.  Oh  Chris,  if  you  love  me,  how  can  you  go  to 
such  places  ?" 

The  young  man  moved  impatiently  and  uneasily  under 
the  hands  which  were  laid  upon  his  shoulders  with  so 
gentle  a  restraint.  His  bold  admiring  gaze  quailed  before 
the  honest  upward  appeal  of  the  wet  blue  eyes  now  for  the 
first  time  turned  upon  him.    He  hesitated  before  he  spoke. 

"Why,  a  man  must  live,"  he  said  at  last,  with  a  short 
laugh;  "I  have  been  used  to  company,  and  if  I  did  not 
sometimes  go  among  men  who  are  not  afraid  to  be  men,  I 
should  mould  and  dry-rot  hoth  at  once  in  this  place.  It  is 
all  that  keeps  one  alive  in  such  a  dull  dog's  hole  as  Cairn 
Edward." 

The  blue  eyes  were  still  upon  him  with  a  yearning  in  them 
that  made  even  the  selfishness  of  Christopher  Kennedy  wince. 

"And  what  of  me?"  she  said,  soft  as  a  breathing,  yet 
with  an  accent  that  pierced  to  the  dividing  asunder  of  soul 
and  marrow. 

"  Lilias,  Lilias,"  he  cried,  in  genuine  pain,  "  I  love  you,  I 
tell  you  so.  That  rights  all.  What  difference  does  it  make 
what  people  may  say  ?  What  do  a  parcel  of  farmer  folk  and 
villagers  matter  to  us  ?  You  know  what  your  Bible  says, 
something  about  '  for  this  cause  shall  a  man  leave  father 
and  mother  and  shall  cleave  unto  his  wife  !' " 

She  kept  her  eyes  fixedly  uj)on  him,  and  their  regard 
was  deep  and  steady  as  the  sea  when  it  is  stillest. 


THE    BELLE    OF    THE    PARISH  7 

''  His  wife !"  She  breathed  the  two  words  again,  and 
the  wind  among  the  waterside  willow  trees  was  not  softer, 
nor  the  dying  soul's  parting  cry  more  tragic. 

"  His  wife  !" 

The  young  man  nerved  himself,  and  dashed  in  the  rapid 
voice  of  one  who  fears  interruption,  into  an  obviously  pre- 
meditated speech. 

"Listen,  Lilias,"  he  said,  "I  have  told  you  why  I  can- 
not marry  you  openly,  though  God  knows  I  would  be  glad 
and  proud  to  do  it  to-morrow.  My  father  put  me  through 
college,  and  I  promised  to  repay  him  before  I  married.  He 
is  poor  and  needs  the  money.  Besides,  it  would  ruin  me 
in  Cairn  Edward  if  such  a  thing  were  known,  and  I  have 
good  hopes  of  the  headmastership.  Then  again  your 
father  thinks  me  godless  and  debauched.  He  told  me  so 
openly,  upon  the  Plainstones  of  Dumfries  when  I  met  him 
there  three  months  ago.  He  forbade  me  ever  again  to 
enter  his  door.  He  forbade  me  to  meet  you.  He  would 
never  consent.  But  happily  we  live  in  a  land  where  mar- 
riage is  easy.  Lilias,  will  you  marry  me  privately  ?  I 
know  it  is  against  your  kirk  rules,  but  it  is  according  to 
the  law  of  the  land,  and  to  the  full  as  binding  as  if  twenty 
ministers  were  present." 

He  paused  a  little  breathlessly  himself  and  looked  down 
upon  her,  smiling  an  anxious,  forced  smile. 

The  girl  drew  herself  back  a  little  way  from  him,  and 
reaching  np  her  hands  she  kept  his  handsome  head,  with 
its  high  forehead  and  weak  irresolute  mouth,  at  a  dis- 
tance, so  that  she  might  look  into  his  eyes. 

"  You  have  left  me  no  choice,  Chris,"  she  said,  still  look- 
ing steadily  into  his  soul ;  "^you  have  made  me  love  you  so 
terribly.     I  must  marry  you  when  you  bid  me." 

"Ah,  that  is  right,"  the  young  man  cried,  cheerfully, 
stooping  to  kiss  her,  "that  is  all  right.  Now  smile  and 
put  your  sadness  away  !     A  bride  does  not  look  like  that." 

But  she  held  him  still  at  a  distance,  and  her  gaze  did 


8  KIT    KENNEDY 

not  falter.  She  was  a  child  even  at  two-and-twenty,  this 
Lilias,  though  she  had  long  been  climbing  on  the  perilous 
ridges  which  to  such  a  temperament  as  hers  form  the  water- 
shed of  life  and  death. 

"Tell  me  what  it  is  that  you  propose  !"  she  said.  ''No 
— do  not  touch  me — yet !     I  want  to  understand." 

"I  have  but  short  time,  little  one,"  he  made  answer, 
''and  I  have  not  yet  thought  it  fully  out.  But  if  you  bring 
a  friend  with  you  I  will  bring  another — friends  whom  we 
can  trust,  I  mean — and  we  will  make  the  declaration  that 
we  are  man  and  wife  before  witnesses.  I,  on  my  part,  will 
bring  Alister  French  the  lawyer  with  me,  and  he  will  see  that 
all  is  right  and  draw  up  the  papers.    Whom  will  you  bring?" 

"I  do  not  know;  I  have  had  no  one  to  trust,  to  speak 
to,  except  you  ;  I  do  not  want  any  other,"  she  answered 
him,  the  firmness  of  her  gaze  wavering  under  his  burning 
glances.  She  felt  the  weakness  inherent  to  all  loving 
women  coming  over  her. 

"  Another  we  must  have.  Would  not  Bell  Kirkpatrick 
serve  ?"  he  suggested,  with  a  quick  downward  glance  at 
her  face,  to  see  how  she  took  the  suggestion. 

"I  do  not  like  Bell.  I  could  not  trust  her  !"  said  Lilias 
Armour,  uncertainly. 

"  And  pray  why  not  ?"  he  urged ;  "  she  is  clever  and 
secret.  Besides,  being  with  you  in  the  house  she  could 
help  us  more  than  any  one  else  !" 

"  I  do  not  like  her  !"  persisted  the  girl. 

"Well,  think  it  over.  I  must  go  at  once  or  I  sliall  be 
late ;  I  am  late  as  it  is.  Think  it  well  over.  I  will  see 
you  again  on  Saturday.  Be  ready  to  tell  me  then  what 
you  will  do.  And  oh  !  Look  here,  Bell  is  Avilling  to  help. 
In  fact,  I  have  spoken  to  her  myself — " 

There  came  a  quick,  leaping  terror  into  the  girl's  face. 
She  caught  the  classical  master  by  the  arm. 

"  Chris,"  she  whispered,  "what  have  you  told  her — what 
does  she  know  ?" 


THE    BELLE    OF    THE    PARISH  9 

He  smiled  and  patted  her  fondly  on  the  shoulder, 

"  Silly  one,  only  what  I  Avould  that  all  the  world  knew," 
he  said,  "  that  I  love  yon  and  would  like  to  marry  you  !" 

She  was  silent,  but  she  sighed  the  long,  weariful  sigh  of 
hope  deferred. 

"  Good-bye  !"  he  said,  and  bending  a  long  moment  to 
her,  he  was  gone. 

At  the  top  of  the  moor,  before  he  plunged  down  the 
long,  rough,  heathery  steep,  he  turned  and  waved  a  white 
handkerchief.  Lilias  Armour  stood  where  he  had  left  her. 
She  did  not  wave  a  response,  but  kept  her  hands  clasjoed 
before  her,  looking  steadfastly  after  her  lover. 

As  he  ran  down  the  slope  he  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"■An  hour  and  ten  minutes,"  he  said  ;  "I  can  do  it ;  I 
shall  have  time  to  see  French  and  look  iii  at  the  Cross 
Keys  as  well.  This  sort  of  thing  takes  it  deucedly  out  of 
a  fellow  whose  business  it  is  to  explain  the  accusative  and 
infinitive  all  day  long." 

An  hour  later  Lilias  Armour  sat  in  her  appointed  place 
at  the  douce  and  sober  morning  worship  of  a  Cameronian 
home.  As  was  the  daughter's  duty,  she  had  brought 
down  the  great  Bible,  covered  with  worn  calf  skin  with 
the  hair  outside,  and  laid  it  before  her  father  at  the  head 
of  the  table.  Before  doing  so,  she  had  taken  away  the 
breakfast  dishes  and  respread  the  board  with  a  white  cloth 
like  that  which  is  laid  upon  a  communion  table,  for  the 
more  fit  offering  up  of  the  morning  sacrifice. 

Her  mother,  bustling,  masterful,  loquacious  housewife 
that  she  was,  had  been  so  long  among  the  poultry  in  the 
yard  that  the  Elder  was  compelled  to  sit  full  five  minutes 
silent  among  his  family,  with  the  Bible  open  before  him 
ere  he  could  give  out  the  psalm  to  be  sung.  Then  his 
wife,  flustered  to  find  them  all  silent  and  waiting,  sat 
down  and  endeavored  to  smooth  her  hair  with  one  hand, 
while  she  found  the  place  with  the  other,  naturally  enough 
failing  in  both.     But  there  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  one 


10  KIT    KENNEDY 

within  the  wide  sumiy  honse-place  of  Dornal  as  they  sang 
to  the  wistful  rise  and  fall  of  the  Elder's  favorite  Colesliill 
the  final  verse  of  the  opening  song  of  praise  : 

"I,  like  a  lost  sheep,  went  astray  : 
Thy  servant  seek  and  find  : 
For  thy  commands  I  suffered  not 
To  slip  out  of  my  mind." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    MARRIAGE    LINES 

c<  Bitter  are  the  rigors  of  righteousness,  and  by  them 
the  merciful  are  shamed  and  sinners  confirmed  in  their 
evil  way." 

This  may  not  be  a  text  out  of  the  written  Word,  never- 
theless it  embalms  somewhat  of  the  spirit  of  the  Great 
Forgiver  of  sins. 

It  was  the  morn  of  the  Sabbath  some  months  after  the 
early  meeting  between  the  classical  master  and  Lilias  Ar- 
mour. The  solemn  Taking  of  the  Book  was  over  in  the 
farmhouse  of  Dornal,  but  Matthew  Armour,  Euling  Elder 
in  the  Cameronian  Kirk,  still  sat  with  the  Bible  ojDen  be- 
fore him.  His  face,  with  its  shock  of  silvering  hair  sweep- 
ing back  from  the  noble  cliff-like  brow,  was  sober  with 
more  than  Roman  gravity.  His  wife  gathered  together 
the  folded  white  handkerchief,  the  spectacles  and  the 
psalm-book  which  were  her  indispensables  at  any  function 
of  a  religious  character.  She  had  learned  by  the  expe- 
rience of  half  a  lifetime,  added  to  her  original  store  of 
woman's  instinct,  when  it  "wasna  chancy"  at  such  times 
to  stand  long  in  the  way  of  her  husband.  Now  in  that 
hush  of  Sabbath  silence  which  she  knew  so  well,  she  was 
especially  eager  to  be  gone. 

But  even  in  the  doorway  the  voice  of  the  Elder  ar- 
rested her. 

"  Margaret  Armour,  bid  our  daughter  Lilias  come 
hither  to  me  !"  he  said. 


12  KIT    KENNEDY 

''Hoot,  Matthew,"  nrged  his  wife,  ''be  canny.  I  ken 
the  young  man  is  no  a  great  professor,  and  his  ways  are 
no  oor  ain  hamely  ways — but  dinna  fret  the  young  lass. 
The  lad  is  weel-to-do,  and  of  a  decent  family  enough, 
though  they  say  an  Episcopalian," 

"  Silence,  woman,  do  as  I  bid  you  instantly,"  commanded 
the  Ruling  Elder  ;  "it  is  with  my  daughter  and  yours  that 
I  desire  to  speak !" 

"Mathy  —  Mathy,  mind  that  we  are  a'  sinners,"  the 
mother  pleaded,  "  mind  that  ye  were  yince  young  your- 
seF." 

"And  if  so,  think  you  not  that  I  have  suffered  in  the 
flesh  for  the  deeds  of  the  flesh.  Think  you  that  I  do  not 
wet  my  j^illow  many  a  night  for  the  sins  of  my  youth.  And 
if  my  children  must  suffer,  it  shall  not  be  because  no  warn- 
ing word  has  been  spoken,  or  no  strong  hand  outstretched 
to  deliver.     Send  in  the  lass !" 

With  a  little  helpless  appeal  of  the  hands  and  a  sidelong 
sway  of  the  head  in  acknowledgment  of  the  fact  that 
oL"  course  her  word  went  for  nothing,  Margaret  Armour 
took  herself  off  to  do  as  she  was  bid.  She  found  Lilias 
standing  with  a  book  in  her  hand  under  the  great  beech- 
tree  by  the  house  gable.  But  she  was  not  reading.  Her 
eyes,  large  and  vague,  their  sometime  bright  blue  dimmed 
with  sadness  and  tears  unshed,  were  fixed  on  the  distant 
hills  at  the  foot  of  which  lay  Cairn  Edward. 

She  did  not  hear  her  mother  come  near  her,  and  she 
started  with  a  piteous  gesture  of  fear  when  a  large  hard 
hand  was  laid  on  her  arm. 

"  Lilias,  my  lass,  ye  are  to  gang  your  Avays  ben  to  your 
faither,"  she  said,  "  and  oh  !  mind — be  kind  and  canny  wi' 
him.  Be  not  angry  nor  rebellious,  for  that  is  never  any 
way  Avith  your  faither.  Gie  up  the  young  man  gin  he  bids 
you — at  least  for  the  present.  Your  heart  winna  break, 
though  you  may  think  it  will.  And  dinna  forget  that, 
whatever  your  faither  may  say,  he  speaks  for  your  good." 


THE    MARRIAGE    LINES  13 

Lilias  Armour  looked  at  her  mother  witli  so  steady  a 
gaze  that  the  eyes  of  that  good  bustling  housewife  fell  be- 
fore them.  The  daughter  laughed  a  little  laugh,  hard  to 
listen  to  from  one  so  young,  it  was  so  full  of  bitter  knowl- 
edge of  the  past  and  carelessness  for  the  future. 

''  Gie  him  up — and  if  I  do,  that  will  end  it,  will  it  ?"  she 
said. 

"  Aye,  surely,"  said  her  mother,  "  it  is  the  way  wi'  a'  the 
young.  I  hae  been  that  gait  mysel'.  I  thocht  that  there 
was  nae  lad  like  ane  that  I  hae  mind  on.  For  sax  months 
I  wad  hae  gi'en  a'  my  shapin'  claes  for  him.  But  my  ain 
mither  advised  me,  and  I  took  her  advice.  And  ye  will  do 
the  like,  my  hinnie,  like  a  good  lass.  There  are  better 
lads  than  him  to  be  gotten — aye,  and  no  that  far  to  seek — 
responsible,  God-fearin'  men,  too,  wi'  farms  weel  plenished 
and  siller  in  the  bank.  There  was  ane  that  spak'  to  me 
Sabbath  eight  days  nae  farther  gane.  Ye  could  get  him 
for  a  look — aye,  and  be  a  decent  married  wife  within  a 
month  gin  ye  willed  it." 

Lilias  Armour  listened  wearily  to  her  mother,  but  did 
not  answer  her  exhortations  and  appeals. 

"  I  will  go  in  and  see  my  father,"  she  said.  And  straight- 
way she  went  in  to  where  Matthew  Armour  was  sitting, 
his  head  thrown  back  with  a  grave  leonine  action,  his  hand 
still  on  the  open  Bible,  and  his  eyes  upon  the  door  through 
which  Lilias  was  to  enter. 

She  stood  before  the  Elder  and  looked  him  in  the  face, 
■waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

''  My  daughter,"  he  said  at  last,  speaking  very  slowly 
but  not  unkindly,  '"  what  is  the   relation   in  which  you  ,. 
stand  to  the  young  man  of  whom  avc  have  spoken  once  be- 
fore, to  him  who  is  named  Christopher  Kennedy  ?" 

"  He  is  very  dear  to  me,"  said  Lilias  Armour,  simply. 

'^1  asked  you  not  as  to  your  feelings,"  her  father  went 
on;  ''the  wind  does  not  pass  more  quickly  over  the  trees 
than  such  emotions  over  a  maiden's  heart.     And  Avhcn  it 


14  KIT    KENNEDY 

is  gone  it  leaves  as  little  trace  of  its  passage.  But  what  of 
him  ?     Has  he  also  told  yon  that  you  are  dear  to  him  ?" 

"  Ever  since  he  came  hither  he  has  loved  none  bnt  me  !" 
said  Lilias,  bravely. 

Her  father  nodded  with  a  shade  of  irony  and  contempt 
mingling  with  the  exceeding  gravity  of  his  countenance. 

"  Such  words  are  a  commonplace  of  evil  and  designing 
men,"  he  said  ;  "they  boast  in  the  public  places  that  they 
are  able  to  make  any  woman  love  them.  My  daughter, 
that  which  I  shall  have  to  say  Avill  be  bitter  in  the  mouth 
as  gall.  I  pray  my  God  that  the  after-taste  may  be  sweet. 
And,  indeed,  be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  my  intent  and  bounden 
duty  to  save  you  from  a  debased  and  drunken  profligate, 
one  who  has  already  dragged  your  good  name  through 
the  mire,  and  who  would  drag  it  deeper  if  he  were  per- 
mitted !" 

''  Father  !"  cried  the  girl,  indignantly,  "  even  you  have 
not  the  right  to  speak  thus  of  the  man  I  love  !" 

"  My  daughter,"  said  the  Elder,  a  little  more  gently, 
''the  truth  may  be  spoken  by  any  and  shame  none.  Still 
more  by  a  father." 

"  You  dare  not  say  it  to  his  face  !"  said  the  girl,  with  a 
flash  of  angry  defiance  unexpected  even  by  herself. 

The  Ruling  Elder  smiled  a  calm,  cold,  inscrutable 
smile. 

'- 1,  Matthew  Armour,  dare  not  !  Do  you  know  your 
father  so  little  ?  Listen  !  Last  night  I  heard  my  daugh- 
ter's name  spoken  by  rude  lips,  shouted  aloud  in  a  place 
of  public  entertainment.  The  door  of  the  room  was 
locked.  I  burst  it  open  when  they  refused  me  entrance, 
and  stood  before  your  lover  in  the  midst  of  his  riotous  and 
drunken  companions.  I  taxed  him  to  answer  me.  I  ac- 
cused him  to  his  face  of  treachery  and  depravity,  and  he 
could  not  answer  save  with  oaths  and  cursings.  So  I  de- 
livered him  to  Satan,  that  he  might  learn  not  to  blas- 
pheme." 


THE    MARRIAGE    LINES  15 

The  girl  stood  pressing  her  hands  upon  her  breast,  as  if 
to  keep  her  heart  in  its  place,  the  while  her  father  went  re- 
morselessly on  : 

"Nay,  more  ;  I  was  made  aware  last  night  that  Christo- 
pher Kennedy  had  lost  his  position  at  the  grammar  school 
of  Cairn  Edward  for  drunkenness,  and  even  at  that  very 
moment  with  his  companions  he  was  celebrating  his  way- 
going. This  morning,  with  one  of  his  cronies,  he  is  fled  no 
man  knows  whither,  and  only  his  creditors  will  trouble  to 
inquire.  He  goes  forth  disgraced  in  the  sight  of  all  and  in 
debt  to  half  the  countryside." 

"  No,  no,  father  !  Surely  there  must  be  some  mistake," 
the  girl  faltered,  the  words  driven  from  her,  "  Chris- 
topher Kennedy  cannot  have  gone  without  seeing  me, 
without  bidding  me  '  Good-bye '  V 

"  A  bad  man  in  time  of  trouble  thinks  only  of  himself," 
said  her  father.  "  But,  after  all,  why  should  he  not  have 
gone  to  his  wife  ?" 

Lilias  Armour  took  a  swift  step  forward  as  if  to  silence 
her  father's  accusing  voice.  He  stayed  her  with  his  hand 
extended,  j^alm  outward,  with  an  action  full  of  dignity  and 
tenderness. 

"■  Be  patient,  my  daughter.  Such  dealing  may  be  hard, 
but  it  is  for  your  soul's  health  that  you  mate  not  with  an 
evildoer.  Listen  !  There  came  a  man  hither  this  morning 
with  all  the  tale  of  his  past.  The  man  whom  you  call 
Christopher  Kennedy  was  married  half  a  dozen  years  ago, 
before  ,ever  he  went  to  college,  to  a  fisher  lass  in  his  own 
parish  of  Sandhaven.     She  lives  there  to  this  day." 

The  girl  bent  her  nails  inward  upon  her  palms  and  shook 
with  the  eifort  to  command  herself. 

"  Who  is  the  man  Avho  brought  this  news  ?"  she  asked,  to 
outward  view  quietly  enough. 

"  His  name  is  Walter  Mac  Walter.  He  comes  from 
Sandhaven  and  knew  Christopher  Kennedy  well.  His 
brother  is  farmer  of  Loch  Spellanderie  ;  ho  is   a  man  of 


IG  KIT    KENNEDY 

credit  and  a  man  who  has  recently  bought  property  in 
this  neighborhood." 

''Then  Walter  MacWalter  lies!"  cried  Lilias  Armonr, 
lifting  her  head  very  high. 

The  Elder  took  from  between  the  leaves  of  the  Bible  a 
slip  of  bine  paper.  There  was  minute  printing  upon  it,  in- 
terspersed with  larger  writing. 

"  Walter  Mac  Walter  brought  this  with  him  in  token 
that  he  lied  not,"  said  her  father.  "  It  is  a  copy  of  certi- 
ficate extracted  from  the  registrar's  book  of  the  parish  of 
Sandhaven,  bearing  that,  on  the  twenty-fifth  day  of  Au- 
gust, in  the  year  18 — ,  Christopher  Kennedy,  son  of  Allan 
Kennedy,  farmer  of  Mayfield  in  the  Parish  of  Sandhaven, 
was  married  to  Mary  Bisset,  daughter  of  Alexander  Bisset 
of  Ship  Row,  fisherman  in  the  same  parish." 

The  girl  came  forward  and  put  out  her  hand  for  the 
paper.  Her  father  gave  it  to  her,  and  she  tried  to  read  it. 
But  the  words  reeled  before  her  eyes,  and  her  fingers  trem- 
bled so  violently  that  the  jiaper  fluttered  this  way  and  that 
like  a  leaf  in  the  wind. 

"I  cannot  read  it,"  she  said,  ''but  it  is  not  true.  Why 
should  a  man  bring  such  a  thing  with  him  from  hundreds 
of  miles  away  unless  he  hated  Christopher  Kennedy  ?  And 
why  did  he  go  to  you  instead  of  to  the  man  he  slandered  ?" 

"  He  came  to  ask  your  hand  in  marriage,  my  daughter," 
said  the  Elder  with  dignity. 

The  girl  laughed — a  hard  grating  little  laugh,  not  good 
to  hear. 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  she  said.  "  This  man  has  pes- 
tered me  at  the  kirk  and  on  the  way  home  these  months 
back,  not  taking  any  honest  answer.  And  now  he  has 
come  from  the  north  with  this  tale,  Avhen  I  thought  that 
I  was  rid  of  him.  Father,  do  not  believe  such  a  man.  It 
is  a  lie.     I  know  it  to  be  a  lie  !" 

"And  how  do  you  know,  Lilias  Armour?"  said  her 
father,  speaking  with  great  quiet. 


THE    MARRIAGE    LINES  17 

The  girl  became  suddenly  excited,  and  her  hand  fumbled 
for  something  in  her  bosom. 

"  I  know  it,  because  I  and  no  other  am  the  wife  of 
Christoj)her  Kennedy — because  he  has  married  me  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses;  I  and  I  alone  am  his  wife." 

A  grayer  grayness  settled  over  the  face  of  the  Elder. 
His  firm  lips  paled  and  became  more  tightly  compressed, 
but  his  speech  was  steady  as  ever,  and  the  hand  upon  the 
open  Bible  did  not  quiver. 

"  Before  Avhat  witnesses?"  he  asked. 

"  Before  Alister  French  the  lawyer,  and  Bell  Kirk- 
patrick  !"  the  girl  answered  fearlessly. 

"  Alister  French  it  is  who  is  fled  with  him,  alike  shamed 
and  in  debts;  his  witnessing  is  as  good  as  naught!"  said 
the  Elder.  "  Let  us  see  what  Bell  Kirkpatrick  will  say  to 
this  !" 

He  rose  from  his  seat  and  went  to  the  door. 

"  Margaret,"  he  cried,  "'  send  in  Bell  Kirkpatrick  to  me 
hastily." 

His  wife,  who  had  been  listening  as  near  the  door  as  she 
dared  to  come,  obediently  went  into  the  courtyard,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  Bell  the  byre-lass,  a  tall  dark  girl,  with 
some  remnant  of  good  looks  not  yet  coarsened  out  of  her, 
entered  with  a  kind  of  sullen  defiance  in  her  manner. 

"What's  your  wuU  wi'  me?"  she  said,  standing  her 
ground  with  her  hands  thumb  down  upon  her  hips. 

Matthew  Armour  looked  at  her  with  a  certain  stern 
calmness  which  was  not  without  its  effect. 

"Bell  Kirkpatrick,"  he  said,  "is  it  true  that  you  were 
witness  to  a  private  marriage  between  my  daughter  Lilias 
and  a  man  named  Christopher  Kennedy  ?" 

"  Na  !"  said  the  hoyden,  boldly  ;  "it  is'na  true.  No  a 
single  word  o'  it  !  I  ken  noclit  aboot  ony  Christopher 
Kennedy  I" 

"Take  care  !"  said  the  Elder;  "my  daughter  assures  me 
it  is  true  !" 
2 


18  KIT    KENNEDY 

"  Then  your  dochter  tells  a  lie  !"  asserted  Bell  Kirk- 
patrick.     "  I  never  heard  a  word  o'  ony  marriage  !" 

"As  I  thought,"  said  Matthew  Armour,  turning  to  Lilias; 
"  he  has  well  chosen  his  witnesses,  and  I  doubt  not  paid 
them  with  other  people's  money.  He  hath  deceived  and 
mocked  you,  my  daughter.  He  who  mocked  at  his  Creator 
might  well  mock  at  the  creature.  But  I,  Matthew  Armour, 
am  your  father.  Fear  not !  I  will  stand  beside  you  in  the 
gate.  You  are  well  rid  of  a  man  so  coward  and  forsworn, 
a  man  debauched  and  rotten  of  heart." 

"  It  is  true,  it  is  true  ;  what  I  tell  you  is  God's  own 
truth  !"  cried  Lilias  Armour,  holding  a  folded  paper  in 
her  hand.  "  See — read.  Here  it  is,  in  the  handwriting  of 
Alister  French,  and  with  his  name  and  that  of  Christopher 
Kennedy  upon  it,  together  with  Bell  Kirkpatrick's  mark." 

"  Give  the  paper  to  me,  my  daughter  !"  said  her  father. 

With  a  strange  reluctance  to  let  the  precious  strip  out  of 
her  hands,  the  girl  gave  it  to  her  father. 

The  old  man  adjusted  his  spectacles,  and  read  it  as  calmly 
as  he  would  a  text  of  the  Scripture. 

Then,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  walked  across 
to  the  fire  that  burned  in  the  grate  of  the  house-place  of 
the  Black  Dornal,  and  thrust  it  deep  into  the  midst. 

With  a  strange,  breaking  cry  Lilias  threw  herself  forward 
towards  it. 

"Father,  father,"  she  cried,  "give  it  to  me.  It  is 
my  all !" 

Her  father  kept  her  back  with  his  left  hand,  while  with 
his  right  he  held  the  paper  down  till  it  was  consumed,  and 
the  fragments  swirled  up  the  chimney,  with  little  fiery  dots 
still  craAvling  crablike  across  them. 

"It  is  but  the  worthless  forgery  of  a  villain,"  he  said, 
"and  if  it  were  not,  I  would  burn  it  a  thousand  times 
rather  than  give  you  up  body  and  soul  to  a  man  accursed 
and  outcast  like  Christopher  Kennedy." 

The  girl  stood  gasping,  her  hands  still  fighting  to  pass 


E 

r 


C 
m 

> 


THE    MARRIAGE    LINES  19 

the  strong  arm  that  hekl  her  back,  her  mouth  squarely 
opeu,  her  eyes  with  the  wild  blank  terror  of  the  utterly 
forsaken  in  them. 

"Oh,  you  know  not  what  you  have  clone,"  she  said.  '^I 
am  his,  body  and  soul ;  I  am  his  !  If  he  fail  me  now,  I 
know  not  what  I  shall  do  !" 

And  without  another  word  she  turned  and  went  slowly 
and  heavily  out  of  the  room.  Matthew  Armour  watched 
her  go,  and  as  the  sound  of  her  footsteps  died  down  the 
narrow  passage  which  led  to  her  own  little  chamber,  he 
turned  swiftly  on  Bell  Kirkpatrick. 

"And  now,  lying  woman,  leave  this  house  instantly. 
You  have  witnessed  a  lie  and  have  doubtless  been  paid  for 
it.  Sabbath  though  it  be,  I  also  will  pay  you  that  which 
is  owin-g  between  us.  But  God  will  one  day  give  you  your 
wages  in  full  reckoning  for  the  evil  you  have  brought  upon 
me  and  mine  this  day." 

The  Avoman  stood  silent  and  watched  him,  at  intervals 
ostentatiously  humming  a  dance  tune.  Old  Matthew 
Armour  turned  upon  her  on  his  way  to  the  little  locked 
drawer  where  he  kept  his  money. 

"  Silence,  woman  \"  he  cried,  "  silence,  lest  I  be  tempted 
to  strike  you  to  the  ground." 

And  so  threatening  Avas  his  gesture  that  the  defiance  was 
smitten  from  the  face  of  the  false  witness  as  quickly  as  a 
boy  wipes  a  slate  with  a  wet  sponge.  She  held  out  her 
hand  mechanically  for  the  money. 

And  as  the  last  coin  was  told  into  it  she  made  towards 
the  door. 

On  the  threshold  the  woman  turned,  and  with  a  certain 
fleer  of  bravado  she  said,  "  Matthew  Armour,  this  is  not 
the  end,  either  for  you  or  for  your  daughter.    I  warn  you  !" 

The  old  man  raised  his  hand,  and  pointed  to  the  door 
with  a  motion  so  large  and  commanding  that  the  evil  woman 
went  out  without  another  word,  like  Judas,  bearing  the 
price  of  innocent  blood. 


W  KIT    KENNEDY 

Tlicu  Matthew  Armour  laid  his  hand  upon  the  open 
Word  of  God  and  looked  upward. 

He  stood  a  long  while  thus  praying,  his  face  softening 
strangely  as  he  did  so  with  a  kind  of  inner  light  shining 
out  from  it. 

"Perhaps  /have  done  wrong/'  he  said,  ''as  well  as  that  ' 
poor  young  lassie." 

And  as  he  shut  the  book  he  said  again  yet  more  gently 
than  before,  "My  poor,  poor  lassie  V 


CHAPTER  III 

ArTER   EIGHT   YEARS 

It  was  a  mellow  July  afternoon  nearly  eight  years  after 
that  Sabbath  morn  when  Lilias  Armour  walked  out  of  the 
honse-place  of  Dornal  with  her  finger-nails  gripped  into 
her  palms,  and  no  marriage  lines  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress 
to  stir  with  the  fluttering  of  her  heart. 

Matthew  Armour  sat  on  a  bench  beside  the  door,  leaning 
upon  the  head  of  his  staff,  and  looking  out  over  the  green 
springing  corn,  through  the  spaces  of  the  trees  in  the 
hollow,  down  to  the  meadows  by  the  waterside.  He  had 
grown  older  even  to  the  casual  eye  during  these  last  years. 
His  hair  was  less  abundant,  and  the  hand  that  had  been  so 
strong,  quavered  upon  the  tough  oaken  head  of  the  staff 
on  which  he  leaned  thoughtfully. 

But  under  the  heavy  gray  brows  the  eyes  of  the  Ruling 
Elder  were  still  gray  and  unconquerably  clear.  His  lips 
were  firm,  and  lay  close  one  upon  the  other  with  the  old 
precision  and  determination.  His  "yea"  was  still  "yea,^' 
and  his  "nay"  still  "nay,"  to  all  within  the  precincts  of 
the  Black  Dornal. 

Yet  withal  there  was  something  warmer  and  kindlier 
than  of  yore — a  light  from  within  the  gates,  as  Mr.  Osborne 
expressed  it.  Mr.  Osborne  was  the  minister  of  the  Came- 
ronian  Kirk,  and  he  knew  his  Ruling  Elder  well. 

As  Matthew  Armour  sat  thus  witli  his  broad  bonnet  of 
blue  on  his  head,  his  eye  caught  the  glint  of  the  mower's 
scythe  somewhere  down  in  the  hollow.     And  at  intervals 


22  KIT    KENNEDY 

there  came  to  tlie  old  man  a  waft  of  song,  the  gay  lilt  of 
an  air,  the  plaintive  note  of  a  psalm  tune,  or  again,  the 
strident  rasli-ioliish  of  the  shapening  strake  on  the  scythe 
as  the  mower  set  it  with  its  jDoint  to  the  ground,  and  put 
an  edge  on  the  broad  shining  blade  with  long  alternate 
sweeps  of  his  arm. 

It  was  very  still  about  the  old  man  until,  sudden  as  a 
swallow's  swoop,  something  passed  behind  him. 

From  the  open  door  of  the  milk-house,  which  stood  at 
the  end  of  the  farm  buildings  of  Dornal,  a  little  boy  of  six 
or  seven  came  with  a  rush,  and  a  brisk,  stirring  voice 
followed  him  with  the  snell  Scottish  scolding  "  tang '^  in 
it,  which  is  ever  more  humorous  than  alarming  to  those 
whom  it  addresses. 

"Ye  ill-set  blasty.  Kit  Kennedy,  gin  I  catch  ye  in  here 
again  !  I  declare  a  body  canna  turn  aboot  for  ye,  but  ye 
are  at  the  cream.  Or  if  ye  are'na  at  the  cream,  ye  are 
thumbing  the  guid  fresh  butter  ontil  your  bread-piece  as 
if  it  were  common  as  clay.  I  hao  neither  rest  nor  peace 
in  my  life  for  ye — I  declare,  so  I  do  !" 

The  figure  of  Mistress  Armour  of  the  Black  Dornal  ap- 
peared at  the  door  of  the  milk-house — wrathful,  gesticu- 
lant,  voluble,  but  somewhat  ineffective.  For  the  small 
boy  addressed  as  Kit  Kennedy  did  not  wait  to  be  more 
nearly  approached,  but  fled  helter-skelter  to  the  knees  of 
the  Kuling  Elder.  These  he  seized  with  both  chubby 
hands  and  forced  apart,  wedging  himself  between  them  as 
if  he  had  been  ensconsing  himself  in  a  citadel  from  which 
it  was  impossible  to  dislodge  him. 

Mistress  Armour  stood  a  moment  shaking  her  fist  at  the 
small  culprit.  Then  she  went  discontentedly  within,  but 
the  gist  of  her  meditations  were  permitted  to  reach  the 
ears  of  her  husband,  for  whom  doubtless  they  were  in- 
tended. 

''A  bonny  like  thing,"  she  went  on,  shrilly,  among  her 
milk-pails,  "that  after  bringin'  up  his  ain  in  the  fear  o' 


a. 

> 


AFTEU    EIGHT    YEARS  23 

God  Jind  a  gnid  hazel  stick,  Matthew  shonki  be  turned 
aboot  the  wee  linger  o'  a  bairn  like  that.  It's  easy  seen 
that  some  folk  are  growin'  early  doited.  Preserve  us  a' — 
we  mauna  raise  a  finger  against  the  brat,  as  if  he  were  a 
king  in  his  ain  richt  and  the  Lord^s  anointed  !" 

She  resumed  her  butter-making,  still  muttering  to  her- 
self. 

"  No  that  he's  sic  an  ill  bairn  either,"  she  said,  relent- 
ingly,  ''but  only  that  niischeevious  and  worritin'.  Ye'll 
meet  the  loon  wi'  a  face  on  him  like  a  thanksgivin'  service, 
an'  ye  think  what  a  grand  wiselike  bairn.  But  a'  the  same 
ye  are  safe  in  giein'  him  a  daud  on  the  side  o'  the  head,  for 
I'se  warrant  ye  that  he's  either  on  the  road  to  some  ill-doin'', 
or  comin'  direct  frae  a  mischief  !  Eitiier  way,  he'll  be 
pleased  wi'  himsel'  !" 

She  fished  the  last  of  the  butter  out  of  the  cool  water. 

"An'  his  grandfaither — there,  weel,  he  juist  canna  see  a 
faut  in  him.  It's  '  Dinna  be  ower  sair  on  the  wean  !'  Or 
maybe  'Let  the  bairn  be,  Margaret  ;  mind  ye  no  that  he's 
but  young  ?' " 

And  at  the  thought  Mistress  Armour  gave  the  wooden 
spoons  with  which  she  was  handling  the  butter  a  little 
vicious  clap  against  each  other. 

"  Aye,  an'  had  it  been  ony  o'  his  ain,"  she  continued, 
nodding  her  head,  "  they  wad  hae  gotten  a  stick  drawn 
across  their  backs,  or  hae  been  takin'  the  road  by  the  Lang 
Plantin',  rubbin'  their  lugs  and  scraichin'  as  if  it  were  a 
pigkillin'  !" 

But  Kit  Kennedy,  happily  unconscious  of  these  male- 
dictions, had  run  straight  to  the  old  man,  as  we  have  seen, 
and  was  now  beginning  to  venture  cautiously  out  of  his  re- 
treat. He  set  his  elbows  first  on  one  of  his  grandfather's 
knees  and  now  on  the  other,  all  the  while  ceasing  not  to 
propound  that  steady  stream  of  questioning  which  rises  so 
easily  to  the  lips  of  nimble-minded  youth. 

"Rab  Forrest  lives  wi'  his  mither,  and  Tarn  Lonie  lives 


24  KIT    KENNEDY 

wi'  his/'  he  said.     "  What  for  do  I  no  bide  wi'  my  mither 
too,  g'appa  ?" 

The  Euling  Elder  looked  at  the  boy  with  a  sudden  cessa- 
tion of  the  smile  which  had  beautified  his  countenance  as 
he  watched  his  grandson's  confidence  in  the  safety  of  his 
city  of  refuge. 

"Your  mother  comes  to  see  ye.  Kit/'  he  said  ;  "  she  was 
here  only  last  Monday." 

''I  ken/'  persisted  the  boy;  "that  was  because  it  was 
Monday,  and  Walter  MacWalter  was  at  the  market  in 
Cairn  Edward.  But  what  for  does  my  mither  bide  wi' 
Walter  MacWalter  an'  no  wi'  me  ?  That's  what  I  wad  like 
to  ken." 

"  Mr.  MacWalter  has  no  one  to  live  with,"  said  his 
grandfather,  diplomatically.  "  He  has  all  that  great  house 
of  Kirkoswald  to  himseTf.  You  have  your  grandmother 
and  your  uncles  and — " 

"And  the  dogs  and  the  ten  cats,  and  you,  g'ajipa,"  con- 
tinued the  boy,  putting  in  order  and  completing  his  cata- 
logue of  mercies.  "  I  ken."  Diverted  by  this  thought,  he 
made  a  fresh  start.  "But  we  wad  be  that  glad  to  keep  her 
here.  For  when  she  comes  she  is  aye  smilin'  bonnily  as  if 
she  had  gotten  oot  o'  the  kirk,  or  somebody  had  gi'en  her 
a  sugar  piece.  But  when  she  gangs  awa',  she  pits  doon  her 
hand  to  her  pooch  and  draws  oot  her  handkerchie  an'"  pre- 
tends to  dicht  her  nose.  But  I  ken  fine  she's  greetin'. 
For  I  hae  fand  the  water  faahi' plap  j)laj^  on  my  held.  It 
was  funny.  But  gin  my  minnie  bode  here  a'  the  time,  she 
wadna  need  sae  mony  handkerchiefs.  It  wad  be  a  savin'. 
And  Walter  MacWalter  micht  hae  three  o'  the  cats  to  bide 
wi'  him — and  grandma  too  !" 

The  Elder  fell  back  on  the  usual  reserves  of  age  and  ex- 
perience. 

"  It's  not  for  bairns  like  you  to  ask  such  questions,"  he 
said.  "  When  you  grow  older  you  will  understand  all  these 
things." 


AFTER    EIGHT    YEARS  25 

The  boy  fell  a-thinking,  and  his  eyes  followed  the  hill- 
side track  by  which  he  had  seen  his  mother  so  often  take 
her  Avay  back  to  the  house  of  Kirkoswald,  in  which  she 
dwelt  so  mysteriously  with  his  hated  rival,  Walter  Mac- 
Walter. 

His  grandfather  watched  him  without  sjDcaking. 

"  Uncle  Rob  will  no  tak'  me  to  the  back-fields  to  see  the 
rabbits  an'  whuttcricks  an'  gather  gowans  ony  mair  !"  he 
began,  in  a  mournful  tone. 

''  And  what  for  that  ?"  said  his  grandfather,  glad  on 
any  terms  to  change  the  subject. 

"Oh  !"  cried  the  boy,  '''juist  because  the  last  day  my 
mither  cam'  to  see  us,  after  she  had  patted  me  on  the 
head,  and  ta'en  me  on  her  knee,  an'  played  hide  an'  seek 
aboot  the  stacks  wi'  me,  an'  gied  me  a'  the  sweeties  she 
had  (there  was  only  nine  and  a  broken  yin),  she  gaed  awa' 
ben  the  hoose.  An'  then  Uncle  Rob  he  says,  '  Wad  ye 
like  a  ride  ower  to  the  back-field — a  ride  on  my  back  to 
see  the  rabbits  and  the  whuttericks  and  pu'  the  gowans  ?' 
(he  aye  says  the  same  thing,  as  if  I  didna  ken  what  he 
meaned.  Uncles  is  that  silly;  aunts,  too  —  but  I  hao 
nane).  And  so  I  ga'ed  wi'  him  to  please  him,  and  after 
a  while  I  said,  '  I  think  we  can  gang  oor  ways  hame.  My 
mither  will  be  ower  the  hill  by  noo  !'  '  Ye  blastie,'  says 
he,  '  never  mair  will  I  cairry  you  on  my  back  to  be  oot  o' 
the  road  when  your  mither  gangs  awa'.  Ye  can  juist  stop 
an'  greet  your  fill  I'  So,"  concluded  the  boy,  "that's  why 
Uncle  Rob  winna  cairry  me  to  the  back-field  ony  mair,  to 
■oce  the  rabbits  an'  whuttericks  an'  gather  the  gowans." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE     DERELICT 

LiLiAS  Mac  Walter,  who  had  once  been  Lilias  Ar- 
mour, had  parted  with  her  son  Kit  at  the  gate  of  the  farm 
loaning  of  the  Bhick  Dornal,  and  was  now  taking  her  way 
slowly  over  the  hill  by  the  little  wimpling  path  through 
the  heather  which  led  to  the  newer  and  more  pretentious 
mansion  house  of  Kirkoswald.  She  walked  as  one  easily 
tired,  and  ever  and  anon  she  stopped  to  take  breath  with 
lier  hand  on  her  side.  Each  time  that  she  did  so  she 
looked  longingly  back  to  the  Black  Dornal. 

The  little  whitewashed  house,  one-storied,  low-roofed, 
stretched  itself  out  beneath  her,  looking  hardly  more  im- 
posing than  a  long  brown-thatched  potato  pit.  Its  door 
stood  open.  She  could  sec  the  marsh-mallows  stand  lilac 
and  green  against  the  wall,  and  almost  the  red  house-leek 
that  sprang  thick-leaved  and  blossom-crowned  from  among 
the  thatch. 

But  these  were  not  what  she  most  looked  for.  She 
strained  her  beautiful  eyes — now,  alas !  grown  somewhat 
dim  with  time  and  tears — to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  little 
black  figure  which  ran  round  the  office  house  chasing  the) 
butterflies  and  hallooing  with  wild  joy  as  the  young  collies 
pursued  each  other  at  a  stretching  galloj),  gripped,  and 
fell  over  in  riotous  heaps. 

She  sighed  to  think  that  he  had  so  soon  forgotten  his 
mother.  ''But  it  is  better  so,"  she  said,  and  turning,  re- 
sumed her  way  with  that  slightly  weary  drag  in  her  gait 


THE    DERELICT  27 

which  was  so  different  from  the  elastic  tread  with  which 
ten  years  ago  Lilias  Armour  used  to  speed  to  kirk  and 
market — or,  as  we  have  seen  her,  scatter  the  morning  dew 
on  her  way  to  bring  home  the  kye. 

The  Loch  of  Grannoch  slept  blue  and  unruffled  beneath 
her.  The  bell  heather  was  just  beginning  to  redden  the 
Crae  Hill  ojoposite  with  a  blush  which  showed  most  in  the 
wet-shot  hollows  and  bieldly  lirks  of  the  broad,  leonine  flank 
opposite  to  her. 

Lilias  MacWalter  breathed  the  summer  air  with  a  feeling 
of  restfulness.  Even  at  Kirkoswald  she  would  have  the 
house  and  garden  to  herself  till  nightfall  of  this  long  July 
day.  And  then — well,  then  she  would  take  up  again  the 
heavy  burden  of  her  life. 

So  far  she  had  followed  a  rough  cart-track,  which  in  the 
days  when  the  onstead  of  Black  Dornal  was  being  built  had 
been  used  for  bringing  down  the  quarried  whinstone  to  the 
masons.  From  this  point  she  had  to  follow  a  mere  winding 
path,  roughly  sketched  out  among  the  heather  by  the  feet 
of  the  rare  passer-by. 

At  the  end  of  the  cart-track  there  was  a  disused  quarry 
whence  the  whinstone  had  come. 

Some  curious  instinct,  perhaps  a  sense  of  the  nearness  of 
a  human  being,  made  her  go  and  look  over  the  brink.  Or 
perhaps  it  was  only  a  waft  of  her  far-off  unforgotten  child- 
hood when  she  used  to  frequent  that  quarry  hole  and  play 
with  her  brothers  upon  its  margin,  that  blew  her  thither  as 
a  chance  breeze  blows  a  leaf. 

She  thought  upon  the  old  sweet  days  as  she  went,  the 
days  before  any  told  her  that  she  was  beautiful — and  before 
lie  came. 

In  spring,  when  the  floods  were  out,  and  a  black  February 
filled  the  dyke  with  rainwater,  she  had  often  repaired  thither 
to  make  a  raft  of  gold  gates  and  palling  stobs  along  with 
her  brothers,  a  vessel  as  wet  as  a  modern  torpedo-boat,  but 
which  yet  bore  them  safely  over  the  black  water  only  to 


28  KIT    KENNEDY 

wreck  them  on  the  rocks  at  the  farther  side,  against  which 
the  wavelets  of  the  tiny  tarn  chTi^jiered  and  fell  back  dis- 
mayed. In  summer  she  had  found  on  its  perilous  ledges 
rock-rose  and  purple  scabious,  meadowsweet  also  in  the  little 
green  valley  through  which  the  waste  waters  of  the  quarry 
trickled,  with  rest-harrow  and  field  pimpernel  above — the 
last  burning,  as  usual,  small  red  holes  in  the  landscape. 
She  remembered  them  all,  and  just  where  they  grew. 

At  any  rate,  whatever  the  cause,  she  lifted  her  skirts  and, 
with  the  old  daintiness  of  step,  went  a  little  out  of  her  way 
in  order  to  look  over  into  the  quarry. 

The  margin  on  which  she  stood  sloped  perilously  down, 
and  the  water  slept  black  below,  leaden  and  dead  even  on 
this  glorious  day  of  highest  summer.  But  opposite  there 
was  the  little  green  bank  she  knew  so  well,  nodding  with 
fern  and  queen-of-the-meadow. 

On  this  lay  a  man  all  huddled  together,  a  common  tramp 
as  it  seemed,  his  clothes  muddy  and  travel-stained,  his  hat 
of  the  cheapest  straw,  with  a  top  that  lifted  like  a  lid  and 
permitted  a  shock  of  graying  hair  to  peep  through.  The 
man  had  obviously  lain  where  he  had  fallen,  for  the  bracken 
was  untrampled,  save  in  the  one  spot  which  was  disfigured 
by  that  inert  and  unsightly  body.  A  narrow  trail,  already 
half  closed,  showed  the  path  by  which  the  man  had  stag- 
gered in  to  rest  himself  on  the  margin  of  the  water. 

His  face,  upturned  to  the  full  blaze  of  the  afternoon  sun, 
showed  mottled  and  blotched,  every  feature  blunted  and 
made  grotesque  by  sotting  intemperance,  the  very  face 
which  one  may  see  among  the  hangers-on  of  many  a  stable- 
yard  and  low  bar  entrance.  Yet  there  was  something  else 
there  also — some  vague  reminiscence  of  other  and  better 
things.  The  uncovered  brow  was  broad  and  high,  the  feat- 
ures in  themselves,  cleared  of  their  clouding  disfigurement, 
excellent  and  even  handsome,  the  mouth  well  shaped  and 
delicate.  The  beard  and  mustache,  though  tangled  and 
unkept,  were  yet  fitted  to  be  a  glory  of  strength  to  a  man. 


THE    DERELICT  29 

Lilias  MacWalter  stood  looking  down  upon  the  huddled 
mass  beneath  her.  No  pulse  of  recognition  warned  her 
that  she  had  ever  seen  or  known  the  man  who  lay  thus 
inert  and  unconscious  at  her  feet.  But  a  feeling  of  com- 
passion, the  instinct  of  one  who  also  has  suffered  and 
sinned,  and  yet  after  all  won  her  way  through,  impelled 
her  to  go  down. 

She  would  draw  the  man  a  little  from  the  water  to  a 
place  of  safety.  She  might  perhaps  shelter  him  from  tlie 
sun  under  that  bush  of  alder  a  foot  or  two  farther  back. 
At  all  events  she  would  try. 

A  branch  of  the  masking  tanglement  of  brake  and  sweet 
gale  above  him  half  hid  his  features,  though  the  meaning 
of  the  mottled  complexion  had  been  only  too  evident. 

Bending,  she  moved  it  aside  and  started  up  with  a  quick 
cry,  her  hands  stretched  out  before  her  in  a  kind  of  horror. 

For  there  beneath  her,  his  eyes  slowly  Avaking  blinkingly 
to  the  outer  world,  lay  the  man  whose  wife  Lilias  Armour 
had  once  believed  herself  to  be  —  Christopher  Kennedy, 
sometime  classical  master  in  the  grammar-school  of  Cairn 
Edward. 

The  man  drew  himself  slowly  up,  first  upon  his  elbow, 
then  to  a  sitting  posture  with  his  arm  set  for  support  on 
the  quarry's  edge. 

The  blank  July  sun,  shining  brilliantly  in  his  deeply- 
sunken  eyes,  blinded  him  for  a  minute,  and  he  raised  his 
unoccupied  arm  uncertainly  to  his  brow  as  if  to  Avard  off  a 
blow.  Then  by  degrees  he  seemed  to  take  in  the  woman's 
figure  standing  above  him,  and  the  face  that  looked  down 
upon  him,  till  as  he  gazed  his  own  blotched  and  mottled 
features  blanched  to  an  even  gray. 

"Lilias,  little  Lilias  Armour!"  he  gasped.  "  I  thought 
you  were  dead  —  surely  they  told  me  you  were  dead, 
Lilias  !" 

The  tired  woman  stood  still,  grasping  the  clinging  black 
skirts  of  her  j^own  as  if  meditating  fiight. 


30  KIT    KENNEDY 

"Do  you  not  hear  ?  They  told  me  you  were  dead,"  he 
repeated,  peevishly;  "I  tell  you  I  believed  them.  Do  you 
not  believe  me  ?" 

The  soul  of  Lilias  Mac  Walter  Avent  whirling  through  a 
chaos  of  deadly  thoughts  and  imminent  terrors.  She  had 
no  fear  for  herself,  and  she  cared  little  for  what  her  hus- 
band might  say.  But  the  boy  she  had  left  behind  her 
down  at  the  Black  Dornal  ?  What  if  this  man  should 
claim  him,  steal  him,  pervert  him,  make  him  even  as  him- 
self? 

Gradually  out  of  the  vortex  two  things  rose  up  plainly 
before  her  mind. 

She  must  get  this  drunkard  out  of  the  neighborhood 
at  any  cost  to  herself,  and  Kit  Kennedy  must  never  know 
that  such  a  man  was  his  father.  So  with  the  wit  which 
comes  to  much-tried  women,  so  soon  as  they  formulate 
distinct  purpose  within  themselves,  the  words  were  given 
to  her  and  she  spoke. 

"  Christopher  Kennedy,"'  she  said,  with  some  of  her 
father's  manner,  "  what  do  you  seek  here  ?  Why  do  you 
come  back  to  the  Black  Dornal  after  all  these  years  ?" 

The  drunkard  laughed  with  a  feeble  deprecation  and 
waggled  his  hand  amicably.  The  drink  was  leaving  him 
rapidly,  but  the  horror  of  inward  emptiness  and  the  rank- 
ling serpent's  teeth  that  succeed  debauch  were  biting  into 
his  very  soul. 

"No  harm — no  harm,"  he  answered;  "to  get  away  from 
myself  chiefly.  Food,  clothing,  a  straw  loft  to  sleep  in — 
these  content  me.  I  am  a  plain  man  dwelling  in  tents — I 
mean  barns  and  lodging-houses — these  days.  You  have  not 
forgiven  me,  Lilias,  I  can  see?  Yet  I  think  you  would  if 
you  knew  half  I've  been  through  since  my  creditors  made 
me  leave  Cairn  Edward  at  the  run.  I  had  not  time  even 
to  say  'good-bye,^  Lilias,  but  I  meant  to  send  for  you — I 
did,  indeed.  But  for  a  while  I  had  no  money  and  things 
went  all  awry.    And  then  they  told  me  you  were  dead !" 


THE    DERELICT  31 

He  paused  as  he  came  to  the  end  of  this  speech,  and 
scanned  her  face  Avith  a  certahi  wistf nlness  for  any  answer- 
ing sentiment. 

"No,"  he  said,  without  resentment  or  disappointment, 
'•^ you  have  not  forgiven  me.  And  I  can't  wonder.  Eight 
years  ago  I  was  a  baddish  sort  of  an  egg,  I  admit.  But  I've 
suffered  for  it.  And  you,  eh — still  going  on  in  the  same 
old  way  ?  Your  father  still  alive  ?  Down  on  me  deader 
than  knives  he  was,  cursed  me  like  what's-his-name  wading 
into  the  priests  of  Baal  before  he  knifed  them." 

"  My  father  is  still  alive,"  said  Lilias,  briefly. 

Christopher  Kennedy  smiled  fatuously  and  held  out  his 
hand  for  her  to  heliJ  him  to  rise.  But  as  she  apparently 
looked  through  it,  he  examined  that  member  carefully  on 
both  sides  as  if  he  had  never  remarked  it  before  and  was 
wondering  whence  it  could  have  come. 

"Ah,  that  is  better,"  he  said  ;  "you've  gone  off  a  bit  in 
looks  yourself,  you  know,  Lilias — time,  wear-and-tear,  and 
so  on.  But  you  are  well  dressed  and  prosperous-looking. 
Had  a  lot  of  sweethearts  since  Christopher  Kennedy  used 
to  come  from  over  the  hills  and  far  away  to  see  you,  when 
Phcebus  bids  arise — " 

"  I  have  been  married  four  years  !"  said  Lilias  MacWal- 
ter,  with  curt  directness.     "I  am  on  my  way  home  now  !" 

"  What  I"  cried  the  man,  with  a  little  wince  as  if  he  had 
been  stricken  on  the  face  by  an  unseen  hand,  "  married  ? 
You  cannot  bo  married.  You  and  I  were  married.  You 
cannot  have  forgotten.  Why,  poor  French  and  that  maid 
of  yours  (a  piece  she  was  !)  witnessed  it,  and  French  wrote 
out  the  lines — Avrote  them  in  style,  too." 

Without  the  least  feeling  in  her  face  Lilias  Mac  Walter 
eyed  the  man,  who  now  stood  up  unsteadily  on  his  feet, 
with  one  hand  on  the  stem  of  the  alder  bush.  As  he  stam- 
mered his  shambling  sentences  she  confronted  him  with  a 
calmness  which  astonished  herself, 

"  Perhaps  you  never  heard  of  Mary  Bisset,  daughter  of 


32  KIT    KENNEDY 

Alexander  Bisset  of  Ship  Row,  in  the  town  and  parish  of 
Sandhaven  ?"  she  said,  quoting  readily  a  name  and  style 
that  was  graven  upon  her  heart.  She  had  often  wondered 
what  Mary  Bisset  was  like  and  what  became  of  her. 

"Mary  Bisset,"  said  the  man,  doubtfully,  passing  his 
hand  across  his  brow,  as  if  to  clear  his  mind  and  keep  it 
from  wandering  ;  "yes,  yes — certainly  I  knew  Mary  Bisset 
when  I  was  a  lad.  That  Avas  the  bonny  fisher  lass  that 
Walter  MacWalter— " 

"Do  not  lie  to  me  again,  Christopher  Kennedy,"  said 
the  woman;  "the  man  you  name  is  my  husband." 

"Yonr  husband  —  Walter  MacWalter?"  the  sobered 
drunkard  almost  gasped.  Then  he  recovered  him&elf,  and 
for  the  first  time  a  spasm  of  anger  crossed  his  face.  "  Curse 
him  I  He  has  crossed  me  twice.  Let  Walter  MacWalter 
have  a  care.    There  is  still  something  here  that  can  strike  !" 

He  brought  his  hand  with  a  large  gesture  down  upon  his 
breast,  a  movement  which  in  such  a  wreck  of  a  man  ap- 
peared merely  pitiful.  Then  he  turned  swiftly  upon  the 
woman. 

"Aye,"  he  cried,  in  a  shrill,  wavering  voice,  "and  you, 
Lilias — you  are  twice  married,  and  your  husbands  both 
alive.  Bigamy,  that's  the  name  for  it.  It  has  an  ugly 
sound.  They  give  ten  years  for  bigamy,  Lilias  Kennedy, 
alias  Lilias  MacWalter." 

The  woman  smiled  bitterly. 

"  It  is  Christopher  Kennedy,  not  Lilias  MacWalter,  who 
stands  within  the  danger  of  that,"  she  said,  with  a  chill 
scorn.  "  Think  rather  of  Mary  Bisset,  whom  you  married 
and  deserted,  as  Afterwards  you  married  and  deserted  me. 
That  marriage  made  a  plaything  of  my  marriage  lines — and 
broke  my  heart  as  well !" 

"I  —  marry  Mary  Bisset,"  cried  Christopher  Kennedy 
in  blank  astonishment,  "Avhy,  it  was  Walter — " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  as  if  he  had  found  that  way  blocked 
and  had  perforce  to  try  another. 


THE    DERELICT  33 

"  But,  after  all,  why  should  I  fret  you  ?"  he  said ;  "  I  am 
derelict,  castaway,  bound  for  the  darkness,  and  he  who 
would  keep  me  blind  and  insensible  till  I  die  would  bo  my 
best  friend.  Yes,  yes,  of  course  I  married  Mary  Bisset. 
But  long,  long  ago,  poor  thing,  has  Mary  Bisset  been  in 
her  resting-grave,  as  says  old  Patrick  the  Pedlar.  Forgive 
me,  Lilias,  I  had  forgotten  for  the  moment.  I  forget  all 
things  now  !" 

He  steadied  himself  on  his  feet,  and  lifting  stiffly  a 
bundle  done  up  in  a  blue  handkerchief,  and  a  well-worn 
stick  which  lay  among  the  sedges  where  he  had  fallen,  he 
addressed  himself  to  the  path  over  the  hill. 

Lilias  MacWalter  walked  silently  by  his  side  till  they 
came  to  the  crest  of  the  moorland  where  they  had  parted 
that  summer  morning  eight  years  ago.  Then  with  one  ac- 
cord they  stopped,  and  facing  about  looked  at  each  other. 
The  man  retained  his  gray  pallor.  The  marked  blotches 
Avere  now  scarcely  visible.  The  puffy  swelling  beneath  the 
eyes  had  fallen  in,  and  instead  of  the  rubicund  counte- 
nance, purple  as  a  plumb,  the  withered  skin  hung  loosely 
about  a  haggard  and  desperate  face. 

"Forty  years  of  age  this  day,  Lilias,"  he  said,  smiling; 
^'it  was  luck  that  brought  us  together  on  my  birthday. 
Say  that  you  forgive  me  before  I  go.  You  will  never  see 
me  again." 

A  sudden  light  of  joy  flashed  into  full  glow  over  the 
woman's  weary  face. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  sadly,  "that  makes  you  glad,  does  it  ! 
Once  the  thought  of  it  would  have  brought  the  tears  start- 
ing from  your  eyes." 

"I  do  forgive  you,  God  knows,"  she  said,  gently,  "but 
now,  go.  And  God  Himself  keep  and  forgive  yon,  and 
bring  you  to  better  things  than  these  !" 

"  Do  not  fear.  I  have  made  me  like  a  brute  and  worse, 
but  I  am  not  brutal ;  I  will  betake  me  far  enough  away  out 
of  your  sight,  that  a  respectable  woman  like  Mistress  Mac- 

3 


34  KIT    KENNEDY 

Walter  of  Kirkoswald  may  never  again  be  ofEended  by  the 
sight  of  that  which  I  have  made  of  myself." 

He  looked  down  with  a  curiously  sheepish  air,  and 
rubbed  a  boot  through  which  a  stockingless  toe  looked 
with  broadly  farcical  effect,  in  the  dust  of  the  little 
turn  of  highway  Avhere  the  cart-track  of  the  quarry 
ended. 

"  You  do  not  happen  to  have  any  money  about  you  ?"  he 
ventured,  looking  slyly  sideways  at  her.  Lilias  started, 
and  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket. 

"  \''ou  will  not  drink  it  ?"  she  said,  quaveringly.  She 
felt  that  she  could  not  refuse.  Yet  what  could  a  promise 
mean  from  Christopher  Kennedy  ? 

"  No,"  he  said,  firmly.  Then,  with  a  weakening  of  the 
voice,  '"  That  is,  I  will  try  not." 

Lilias  MacWalter  took  out  her  purse. 

*'For  the  boy's  sake,"  she  murmured  to  herself;  ''I  can- 
not afford  to  quarrel  with  him." 

There  were  two  pounds  in  the  purse  and  some  silver. 
She  put  one  of  the  notes  in  his  shaking  palm.  His  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  other  in  her  nnshut  purse. 

''You  will  go  away  if  I  give  you  this  ?"  she  queried,  her 
mind  divided  between  hope  and  fear.  "  You  will  promise 
to  go  straight  to  Cairn  Edward  and  to-morrow  to  Dumfries 
if  I  give  you  this  other  ?     It  is  all  I  have." 

"  I  swear  it,"  said  the  drunkard.  And  he  meant  to 
keep  his  word. 

As  Christopher  Kennedy  took  the  second  pound  from 
her  hand  he  gripped  her  fingers  and  held  them  a  moment 
in  his.  For  the  space  of  a  heart's  beat  she  tried  to  with- 
draw them.     But  finally  she  let  them  remain. 

"  For  the  boy's  sake  I"  she  thought  in  the  ashen  deeps 
of  her  heart. 

"  Vive  memor  amoi'is  nostri — et  vale!"  said  Christopher 
Kennedy  in  his  old  drolling  voice,  but  with  a  firm  grij)  of 
his  fingers  upon  hers. 


THE    DERELICT  35 

''  What  does  that  mean  T'  said  the  woman,  jnst  as  she 
used  to  do. 

"It  means  'Good-bye,  and  do  not  quite  forget'!"  he 
said,  and  let  her  hand  drop.  He  looked  at  her  a  long 
while  before  saying  another  word.  "  The  fire  is  burned 
out.  And  the  ashes  of  it  have  made  all  the  waters  bitter. 
Marah — Marah,  let  them  be  called  !  For  they  are  exceed- 
ing bitter  !'' 

And  again  he  made  the  large  gesture  of  one  who  sows 
the  wind. 

"•■  Good-bye  !"  she  said,  simply.  And  with  bowed  head 
she  took  her  way  towards  the  distant  bunch  of  trees,  under 
which  nestled  the  mansion-house  of  Kirkoswald,  its  front- 
age all  a-glitter  with  plate-glass  and  dusky  with  red  sand- 
stone. 

The  man  stood  watching  her  as  she  went  down  the  moor 
edges.  He  watched  her  as  she  came  to  the  stile  at  the  head 
of  the  old  grass  parks.  His  eyes  did  not  leave  her  for  a 
moment  till  she  became  a  black  dot  scarce  discernible  above 
the  green  of  the  corn,  and  so  passed  on  towards  the  house. 

When  she  had  vanished  finally  from  his  sight,  Chris- 
topher Kennedy  lifted  his  hand  and  kissed  it  towards  her 
with  something  of  his  old  graceful  manner. 

*'Why  should  you  bear  the  burden.  Love  Lilias,"  he 
said,  "  when  such  a  wreck  as  I  am  can  bear  it  for  you  ?" 

He  turned  again  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  looked  once 
more  at  the  green  clump  of  trees  behind  which  Kirkoswald 
was  hidden. 

^'  Ave  atquc,  vale!"  said  the  classical  master  ;  ''being  (as 
I  hope)  about  to  die — my  love,  I  salute  you  !" 

His  hand  stole  to  his  pocket.  He  fingered  the  two  notes, 
and  as  ho  did  so  his  mood  changed.  "Now,  I  wonder 
where  the  nearest  public-house  is  ?"  he  added. 

For  the  classical  master  had  once  more  become  the 
tramp. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE     RED     LlOISr 

It  was  six  o'clock  at  the  hostelry  of  the  Red  Lion  in  the 
village  of  Whinnyliggate.  This  well-known  inn  was  held, 
as  all  must  knosv,  by  the  Misses  Barbara  and  Ketiirah 
Heartshorn.  The  village  had  long  boasted  of  but  one 
house  of  public  refreshment,  and  the  Red  Lion,  a  com- 
fortable two-story  house,  with  a  commodious  yard  behind 
enclosed  on  three  sides  by  stabling  and  barns,  was  that  one. 

It  had  been  left  equally  to  his  two  daughters  by  Job 
Heartshorn,  a  man  from  the  Anglican  fenland,  who,  hav- 
ing wandered  to  Galloway  to  buy  cattle,  had  lived  to  amass 
a  very  cosy  little  fortune  by  stabling  other  people's. 

Miss  Barbara  Heartshorn,  the  elder  of  the  sisters,  was 
tall,  many  angled,  muscular,  and  withal  somewhat  asser- 
tive. Her  sister  Keturah,  on  the  other  hand,  was  persua- 
sive, yielding,  and  caiTled  the  easy  evenness  of  her  temper 
reflected  on  a  plumply  smiling  face. 

The  elder  sister  drilled  the  company  in  her  parlors  as  a 
sergeant  breaks  in  an  awkward  squad.  The  younger 
brought  them  good  measure  on  the  sly.  Thus  was  the 
hostelry  of  the  Red  Lion  carried  on  with  a  success  far 
greater  than  that  obtained  by  any  other  in  four  neigh- 
boring parishes,  and  so  busy  were  its  present  owners  and 
occupiers  in  conducting  it  that  they  had  reached  middle 
life  without  even  having  had  time  to  think  of  marrying. 
Miss  Barbara  usually  acknowledged  any  approach  to  famil- 
iar and  personal  discourse  on  love  and  matrimony  with  a 


THE    RED    LION  37 

sound  box  on  tlic  ear  of  tlio  speaker,  to  which  was  added 
an  admonition  to  '^Mind  now!"  While  as  for  Miss 
Keturah,  though  doubtless  she  had  listened  to  much 
lovemaking  in  the  course  of  her  life,  and  turned  the  dim- 
ples of  her  rosy  cheeks  and  a  pair  of  not  unappreciative 
ears  to  the  charming  of  many  male  serpents,  she  stood  too 
much  in  awe  of  the  indignation  of  her  sister,  and  was  too 
afraid  of  hurting  the  Red  Lion  by  deserting  the  colors,  to 
permit  matters  to  go  any  further. 

Besides,  the  younger  sister  had  not  forgotten  the  awful 
occasion  when  Archibald  Girmory  (commonly  known  as 
Big  Bauldy),  the  farmer  of  High  Creochs,  had  informed 
her  for  the  fiftieth  time  that  she  was  the  "  heartsomest, 
bonniest,  most  tasty  bit  lassie  in  a'  the  countryside."' 

In  her  bed  at  night  she  still  flushed  to  remember  how 
upon  their  startled  ears  had  broken  the  voice  of  her  sister 
Barbara  :  "  Keturah. Heartshorn,  I  bid  you  remember  that 
praise  to  the  face  is  an  open  disgrace.  Come  your  ways 
ben  the  hoose  this  minute  and  peel  the  potatoes  I'" 

In  order  to  preserve  the  immaculate  character  of  the 
house,  the  sisters  had  added  an  outer  bar-room  at  the  back 
within  call  of  the  ostler  on  duty  in  the  yard  and  stables. 
This  was  reserved  for  "transients" — that  is,  guests  who 
had  not  the  "freedom  of  the  parlor"  and  who  might  not 
aspire  to  that  comfortable  inner  room  in  which,  during  the 
forenight,  Miss  Keturah  might  occasionally  sit  down  with 
her  crocheting,  and  even  Miss  Barbara  herself  deign  to 
stand  a  moment  with  a  tray  in  her  hand,  ere  she  hurried 
to  another  apartment  to  dispense  stores  or  lay  down  the  law. 

To  the  Red  Lion  therefore  came  the  tramj)  in  the  lidded 
straw  hat,  the  same  who  earlier  in  the  afternoon  had  lain  in 
the  quarry  hole  on  the  muir  above  Black  Dornal,  He  had 
cleansed  some  of  the  mud  off  his  clothes,  yet  his  appearance 
was  even  more  desolate  and  forlorn  than  Avhen  Lilias  Mac- 
Walter  had  come  upon  him  sleeping  under  the  alder-bush. 


38  KIT    KENNEDY 

But — he  had  two  pounds  in  his  pocket. 

He  limped  thankfully  into  the  outer  room,  bare  of 
board,  severely  furnished  with  bench  set  along  the  wall 
and  around  the  small  central  table.  At  one  end  was  a 
zinc-covered  bar,  shining  like  silver,  and  a  square  spy-hole 
through  which  liquors  were  served  and  at  which  appeared 
upon  occasion  the  dimpling  cheeks  of  Miss  Keturah,  or, 
with  a  stern  rapping  of  steel  knife  handle,  the  reproving 
and  obedience-compelling  visage  of  her  elder  sister. 

It  was  to  the  latter  that  the  tramp  appealed. 

'■'  Whiskey,  indeed  ?  Bread  and  cheese  will  set  ye  bet- 
ter, my  lad.  Keturah,  a  pennyworth  of  bread  and  cheese 
for  a  gaun  chiel  in  the  outer  parlor.  What — drink  ye  will 
have  also  ?  You  can  pay  for  it  ?  Well,  if  you  can,  and 
that  honestly,  it  consorts  but  ill  with  your  onputting.  Yet, 
after  all,  we  keep  a  house  of  public  entertainment,  and  we 
can't  be  choosers  any  more  than  the  beggars.  But  keep 
the  peace,  my  lad,  or  out  you  go  from  the  Eed  Lion, 
money  or  no  money.  And  mind  ye  that,  no  swaggerers 
within  my  doors  !  There  shall  be  no  complaint  of  unruly 
house  or  noisy  brawling  go  forth  from  this  house  so  long 
as  I  am  its  mistress.     I  speak  for  Keturah  also  !" 

She  added  the  last  clause  as  an  after-thought. 

The  tramp's  hand  mechanically  sought  the  brim  of  his 
battered  hat  with  a  grace  which  to  Miss  Barbara's  expe- 
rienced eye  instantly  betrayed  that  too  common  type,  the 
"  man  who  had  seen  better  days."  He  was  therefore  more 
than  ever  a  man  to  be  suspected,  to  be  watched,  to  be  got 
out  of  the  way  of  her  sister.  For  to  such  Miss  Keturah 
was  often  both  over-kind  and  unwisely  liberal. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  tramp,  courteously,  "you  need  not 
fear  that  I  shall  not  behave  myself  in  your  house." 

"  See  that  ye  do,  then  !"  was  Miss  Barbara's  uncompro- 
mising retort,  as,  having  filled  the  order,  she  shut  down  the 
panel  of  the  bar  with  a  decisive  snap  and  went  to  see  Avhat 
her  sister  Keturah  was  doing. 


THE    RED    LION  39 

Presently  in  the  outei*  parlor  of  the  Keel  Lion,  as  the 
^'casual"  room  was  called  by  a  very  latitndinarian  courtesy 
of  language,  gathered  a  large  and,  for  Whinnyliggate,  a 
most  representative  company. 

At  the  corner  of  the  deal  table  there  sat,  by  immemorial 
right,  Geordie  Breerie  the  packman,  a  man  fully  as  broad 
as  he  was  long,  with  a  face  smoothed  and  jollified  with  good 
living,  and  made  russet  and  purple  by  exposure  to  many  a 
summer  sun  and  winter  gale.  His  huge  pack  stood  in  the 
corner,  done  up  in  black  American  cloth,  flaccid  and  inert, 
with  a  comical  lurch  forward  of  its  upper  part,  out  of  which 
he  had  extracted  a  number  of  dress  pieces  to  show  Miss  Ke- 
turah,  when  Miss  Barbara  should  happen  to  be  out  of  the 
way — an  opportunity  which  had  not  yet  occurred. 

Geordie  Breerie,  it  was  reported  among  his  professional 
brethren,  could  frighten  the  fiercest  dog  in  Scotland,  and 
that  by  a  very  simple  plan.  As  he  walked  along  the  pack- 
man presented  a  very  curious  appearance.  First  and  near- 
est the  ground  there  were  two  short  and  thick  legs,  squat 
like  the  props  of  a  corn  stack.  Next  came  an  equally  short 
but  much  thicker  body,  as  nearly  square,  indeed,  as  might 
be.  ("A  big  sack  o'  cauf  (chaff)  on  the  tap  o'  twa  wee 
sacks  o'  cauf,"  was  the  description  of  Geordie  by  a  local 
humorist.)  Then,  driven  by  the  weight  and  height  of  his 
pack  almost  into  the  middle  of  his  body,  came  Geordie's 
head,  crowned  by  its  broad  blue  bonnet.  While  above  all, 
black  and  square,  towered  the  pack,  the  whole  combination 
being  enough  to  drive  the  most  unsuspicious  farm  dog  into 
hysterics  of  rage  and  noisy  denunciation. 

Nevertheless,  Georgdie  Breerie  was  never  harmed.  He 
had  a  way  of  bending  himself  double  from  the  thigh  and 
looking  through  between  his  legs  at  his  barking  enemy, 
which  was  more  effective  than  a  field-piece  loaded  to  the 
muzzle. 

For  so  soon  as  that  vast  purple  face  and  bristling  red  hair 
appeared  upside  down  between  Geordie's  legs,  and  the  whole 


40  KIT    KENNEDY 

apparition  began  to  approach  backwards  "like  a  partan," 
the  bravest  and  most  reckless  collie  tucked  tail  inward  like  a 
steel  spring,  and  stood  no  longer  wpon  the  order  of  his  going. 

On  this  and  other  counts  Geordie  was  an  important  per- 
son in  the  outer  parlor  of  the  Red  Lion,  and  was,  besides, 
the  only  man  who  dared  to  hammer  on  the  table  with  his 
pint  stoup  to  call  the  attention  of  the  austere  divinity  be- 
hind the  veil. 

Upon  his  frequent  visits  to  the  Red  Lion  Geordie  pre- 
sumed a  little  upon  being  the  only  person  at  whose  jests 
Miss  Barbara  had  ever  been  known  to  laugh,  and  he  derived 
much  consolation  from  the  distinction,  even  building  a  little 
upon  it  in  confidential  converse  with  his  cronies. 

"  I  tell  ye  what,  Geordie,  ye  will  stan'  at  the  back  o'  that 
coonter  some  day  yet,"  Rab  Irvine,  the  journeyman  smith, 
would  say,  jocularly.  '^The  auld  runt  Babby  is  fell  fond 
o'  ye,  that's  plain  to  everybody.  Did  ye  no  see  what  a  laugh 
she  took  to  hersel'  when  ye  gied  the  table  siccan  a  drive  wi' 
your  neive  that  ye  spilled  the  jug  o'  tippenny  doon  your 
breeks.     It  was  fair  compromising,  yon." 

'^0  no  so  verra,"  said  Geordie,  much  flattered;  ''the 
like  micht  hae  ha^Dpened  to  ony  body,  even  yoursel',  Rab, 
though  you  haena'  my  personal  advantages.  A  weel-made 
unmarried  man  has  his  privileges — as  is  weel-kenned." 

"  Aye,  aye,  it's  a  sair  warl'  ony  way  ye  tak'  it !"  said  Rab 
Irvine,  shaking  his  head  with  feeling  mournfulness.  "  Did 
ye  hear  that  my  brither  Tam's  wife  was  deid  !" 

"  But  what  for  need  ye  fret  aboot  that  ?"  asked  Geordie 
Breerie,  resentfully.  He  was  angry  that  the  subject  should 
be  changed,  for  he  liked  nothing  better  than  to  be  joked 
about  Miss  Barbara  Heartshorn  and  his  chances  of  one  day 
becoming  landlord  of  the  Red  Lion. 

Rab  Irvine  shook  his  head  still  more  lugubriously. 

"It's  no  that,"  he  said,  "it's  no  that  ava  !  She  was  a 
besom,  and  Tam's  well  rid  o'  her.  But  what  gars  me  greet 
is  juist  that  everybody  is  gettin'  a  change  but  me  I" 


CHAPTER  VI 

LILIAS    armour's   TWO    HUSBANDS 

The  tramp  sat  in  the  corner  most  remote  from  observa- 
tion. He  did  not  wish  to  be  recognized — though,  indeed, 
there  was  no  one  in  the  company  who  had  known  him 
when  he  was  classical  master  in  the  Academy  of  Cairn  Ed- 
ward. Nor  was  it  likely  that  any  one  of  his  ancient  cronies 
would  recognize  in  the  ragged  tramp  the  smartly  attired 
young  college  man  who  had  fluttered  the  hearts  of  many 
an  orthodox  civic  dovecot  by  a  careless  wave  of  his  liand, 
as  he  took  the  hill  road  to  the  Black  Dornal  with  his  srreen 
botanical  case  over  his  shoulder. 

"  A  worthy  young  man — a  diligent  young  man  ;  learned 
and  hopeful,  sure  to  rise  \"  declared  the  parents,  jaeep- 
ing  through  the  first  floor  blinds  immediately  over  the 
shop. 

"A  handsome  young  man  !  Did  you  see  how  he  waved 
his  hand  to  me  T'  said  the  eldest  daughter  at  the  narrower 
windows  of  the  floor  above. 

''  No  ;  it  was  to  me  !"  said  the  younger,  but  secretly, 
thinking  of  certain  glances  exchanged  at  the  last  Choral 
Union. 

And  noAv  the  worthy  young  man,  the  handsome  eye- 
glancer,  the  collector  of  botanical  specimens,  the  lover  of 
Lilias  Armour,  belle  of  six  parishes,  sat  unknown  and  un- 
knowable on  a  wooden  bench  in  the  outer  parlor  of  the 
Eed  Lion,  drinking  by  himself,  none  paying  heed  to  him. 

Upon  this  jocund  company,  enter  a  well -attired,  well- 


42  KIT    KENNEDY 

groomed  figure,  leather-breeched,  riding-whipped,  bhitant- 
ly  assertive,  floridly  prosperous. 

"And  ye  are  welcome  ;  come  awa  ben,  sir  !"  cried  Miss 
Barbara  through  the  wicket  gate,  whence  she  spied  upon 
her  guests,  and  from  whence  she  rebuked  the  evildoer  and 
bade  the  worthy  Pliarisee  come  up  to  the  higher  seats  in 
the  Eed  Lion  synagogue. 

But  Walter  Mac  Walter  was  jovial  from  the  market,  and 
willing  to  stand  well  with  the  company  as  a  free-handed, 
open-hearted  landed  proprietor. 

"  Thank  you.  Miss  Barbara  ;  presently,  presently  !"  he 
answered,  takiiig  off  his  hat  politely  to  the  divinity  within 
the  veil,  "  when  I  have  spoken  with  these  excellent  fellows 
here,  I  Avill  accept  your  kind  invitation  !" 

He  opened  out  his  coat  and  sat  down  beside  Geordie 
Breerie,  calling  jovially  for  glasses  round  as  he  did  so. 

All  complied  with  his  invitation  except  the  tramp  in  the 
dark  corner,  who  sat  moodily  drinkiiig  by  himself.  At  the 
first  entrance  of  the  prosperous  man  of  means  the  tramp 
had  shaded  his  brow  with  his  hand,  only  stealthily  peering 
at  him  when  his  back  was  turned. 

Walter  Mac  Walter  looked  gayly  round. 

*'  Are  your  glasses  all  charged  ?"  he  cried.  "  All  at  my 
expense,  remember.  I  will  give  you  a  toast — '  the  health 
of  the  Misses  Barbara  and  Keturah  Heartshorn  !'  Stop, 
though,  there  is  a  man  in  the  corner  not  standing  up  !" 

"Hoots,"  said  Geordie  Breerie,  Avith  contempt,  "  din- 
na  bide  for  him.  It's  only  a  puir  feckless  gaun  body 
that's  been  sittin'  there  tipplin'  by  himsel'  the  hale  fore- 
nicht  !" 

"  One  man  is  as  good  to  me  as  another,"  cried  Mac  Wal- 
ter, whose  strong  suit  was  an  affectation  of  republican 
equality  ;  "  beggar  or  laird,  he  shall  never  leave  this  house 
without  drinking  this  toast.  Hey,  man,  come  to  the  bar 
and  get  your  glass  like  a  man.  All's  free  when  Walter 
MacAValter  pays." 


LILIAS    ARMOUR'S    TWO    HUSBANDS    43 

*'  I  would  rather  be  excused,"  said  the  classical  master, 
quietly. 

"  Excused  !  Nonsense  !  Drink  it,  man.  And  if  you 
cannot  rise  to  get  it,  faith  I  will  bring  it  to  you,  and  have 
a  look  at  your  physiognomy  as  well,  which  you  hide  like  a 
bashful  bride  !" 

And  as  he  spoke  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  made  his  way 
between,  the  chairs  to  the  corner  where  sat  Christopher 
Kennedy. 

The  tramp  bode  still  till  his  would-be  entertainer  was 
within  a  yard  of  him.  His  head  was  more  deeply  sunk 
than  ever  on  his  breast,  and  his  eyes  further  retired  un- 
der the  shade  of  his  brown  hand. 

Walter  MacAValter  set  his  palm  with  rough  freedom 
upon  the  man's  shoulders,  the  whole  company  looking  on 
silently  to  see  what  would  happen. 

Suddenly  the  tramp  lifted  his  head  and  looked  straight - 
into  MacWalter's  eyes.  For  a  moment  the  two  men  kept 
their  positions,  giving  and  taking  glance  for  glance.  Then 
Walter  MacAValter  lifted  his  palm  from  the  tramp's  shoul- 
der and  stood  upright,  with  his  hand  still  uplifted  in  the 
air.  The  tramp  sat  motionless,  but  did  not  remove  the 
fixed  intensity  of  his  gaze  from  the  other's  face. 

"Do  you  still  wish  me  to  drink  with  you?"  he  said, 
in  a  low,  restrained  voice. 

Astonished  and  unsettled,  MacAValter  stammered  some 
inarticulate  explanation  to  the  company,  and  then  turn- 
ing again  to  Christopher  Kennedy  he  hissed  out,  ^'AVhat 
in  the  fiend's  name  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"  I  am  drinking  what  I  am  able  to  pay  for !"  returned 
the  tramp,  without  moving  from  his  seat. 

"Drunken  dog!"  cried  MacAValter,  "for  a  quart  of  ale 
I  would  strike  you  as  dead  as — " 

"As  Mary  Bisset !"  put  in  the  sitting  man,  very  clear- 
ly and  distinctly.  There  ensued  a  stir  among  the  com- 
pany. 


44  KIT    KENNEDY 

''  What  did  he  say?  "What  name  did  he  mention  ?"  went 
round  the  room. 

Walter  MacWalter  turned  white  under  his  tan,  and  the 
purple  bloom  produced  by  good  marketing  cheer  died  out 
of  his  cheek.  He  did  not  answer,  but  went  back  to  the 
bar  and  faced  the  company. 

''Gentlemen/'  he  said,  as  if  desirous  of  ignoring  what 
had  gone  before,  "  I  give  you  my  toast  again,  and  every 
well-wisher  of  the  house  will  drink  it — 'the  health  and  pros- 
perity of  the  Misses  Heartshorn  !' " 

The  company  stood  up  with  an  irregular  cheer,  to  which 
followed  contending  shouts  of  "Miss  Barbara"  and  "Miss 
Keturah,"  according  to  whether  love  of  beauty  or  self-in- 
terest ruled  their  hearts. 

Then  every  one  sat  down  amid  the  awkward  pause 
which  always  comes  after  social  ebullition. 

Then  Mr.  MacWalter  of  Kirkoswald  rapped  on  the  door 
which  led  from  the  outer  to  the  inner  parlor  through  the 
bar  which  separated  the  two.  Miss  Barbara  opened  it  for 
him.  He  passed  within  and  the  company  were  left  to 
themselves.  They  whispered  low  one  to  the  other,  and 
many  were  the  glances  directed  to  the  corner  Avhere  the 
tramp  sat.  Presently  he  went  to  refill  his  glass,  and  being 
asked  to  settle  his  score,  he  tendered  one  of  the  pound 
notes  in  payment. 

Through  the  little  wicket  every  eye  followed  the  crack- 
ling paper  to  its  destination  in  the  till,  and  took  in  the 
jingle  of  the  change  as  it  drojiped  nonchalantly  into  the 
tramp's  pocket.  Suspicion  sat  lowering  on  every  brow, 
and  a  cabal  was  instantly  formed  at  the  centre  table  to  find 
out  where  this  very  doubtful  character  came  from,  and  how 
he  happened  to  be  in  possession  of  so  much  money  as  a 
whole  undivided  pound  note. 

"Mair  than  a  well-to-do-man  can  make  in  a  week  about 
fair  time,"  said  Geordie  Breerie  ;  "it's  clean  impossible  he 
can  liae  come  by  it  honestly," 


LILIAS    ARMOUR'S    TWO    HUSBANDS    45 

"We'll  hear  news  o'  this  yet !"  said  Eab  Irvine,  nodding 
his  head  sagely. 

"I  wadna  wonder  gin  he  will  hae  murdered  somebody 
and  sunk  their  body  in  a  moss  hole.  He's  a'  ower  glaur  V 
whispered  the  road-man,  by  name  "Gleyed"^  Charlie,  who 
had  imagination. 

''  Stealed  it  out  o'  some  decent  man's  pooch,  mair  like. 
A  craitur  like  yon  wadna  hae  the  pluck  to  murder  ony- 
body!"  retorted  Geordie  Breerie,  who  liked  to  have  the 
monopoly  of  wisdom  in  any  company. 

But  they  were  soon  to  hear  news  of  the  pound  note,  as 
Eab  Irvine  had  predicted. 

Even  as  they  were  speaking  the  inner  door  opened,  and 
Miss  Barbara  stood  in  it,  tall  and  imposing.  She  held  a 
pound  note  in  her  hand.  Behind  her  could  be  seen  the 
sturdy,  prosperous  figure  of  Mac  Walter,  with  several  other 
statutory  occupants  of  the  bar-parlor.  Every  eye  except 
those  of  the  tramp  was  fixed  upon  her.  Not  a  jaw  but 
dropped  in  expectation,  nor  a  rustic  mouth  which  Avas  not 
opened  in  a  universal  gape.  But  the  tramp  alone  sat  in  his 
corner  with  his  hand  again  above  his  brow.  He  fingered 
his  glass  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  been  accustomed 
to  wear  dress  clothes  and  toy  with  a  glass  of  port  after 
dinner. 

"Let  the  doors  be  closed,"  cried  the  hostess.  "Davit 
Dick,  are  ye  there  ?" 

"  Aye,  Miss  Barbara,"  came  from  the  other  side  of  the 
entrance  which  communicated  with  the  stable  yard,  and  the 
shoulder  of  the  ostler  was  heard  rubbing  against  the  panels 
Avithout. 

"Are  ye  armed.  Davit  ?" 

"  I  hae  the  hay-fork  !"  came  the  answer.  "  I'll  no  let  a 
leevin'  sowl  gang  by  !" 

"'"  It  is  well,"  said  Miss  Barbara,  solemnly,  with  the  air  of 
a  judge  pronouncing  sentence. 

"I  have  here  a  pound  note  which  has  been  handed  over 


46  KIT    KENNEDY 

the  bar  by  some  one  of  this  company.  Bell  Kirkpatrick, 
my  servant,  took  it,  and  I  changed  it.  But  the  careless 
limnier  says  that  she  cannot  identify  the  man  that  gave  it 
into  her  hand  at  the  bar.  No  one  has  left  the  room  since 
this  took  place.  I  demand  to  know  who  tendered  this 
pound  note,  and  v/ho  received  seven  half-crowns  and  some 
coppers  in  change  ?" 

The  tramp  stood  up  in  his  corner,  thrusting  back  as 
he  did  so  the  small  round  table  on  which  he  had  been 
leaning. 

''  The  note  in  question  was  mine,"  he  said,  quietly. 

''It  is  stolen  —  seize  him  instantly,"  commanded  Miss 
Barbara,  while  her  sister  caught  her  arm  and  besought  her 
to  come  in  and  shut  the  door,  lest  the  thief  should  murder 
them  all.  And  indeed  for  a  moment  or  two  it  looked  like 
it.  For  the  tramp  swept  the  high-backed  wooden  bench  on 
which  he  had  been  sitting  round  in  front  of  him,  and  draw- 
ing a  long  sheath  knife  out  of  his  pocket,  he  opened  it  Avith 
a  vicious  click. 

"The  note  was  mine,"  he  said,  "'honestly  obtained  from 
a  friend.  I  am  innocent,  and  will  not  be  taken.  Let  the 
first  man  approach  at  his  peril." 

Walter  MacWalter  stepped  in  front  of  Miss  Barbara 
Heartshorn. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "the  pound  note  which  I  see  in 
Miss  Barbara's  hand  is  mine.  I  had  it  in  my  pocket  when 
I  came  in.  The  man  must  have  stolen  it  from  me  as  I 
stood  speaking  to  him,  asking  him  to  drink  the  toast  which 
I  had  the  honor  to  propose  to  you.  I  remember  now  that 
I  felt  a  twitch  at  my  pocket,  and  looked  down,  but  could 
see  nothing.  If,  as  he  says,  the  note  came  honestly  into 
his  possession,  let  him  give  us  the  name  of  the  kind  friend 
who  supplied  a  ragged  tramp  with  so  much  money." 

"  Aye,  let  him  tell  us,"  cried  many  hangers-on  about  the 

room. 

"  That  I  can  easily  do,  if  you  desire  it,"  said  the  tramp. 


LILIAS    ARMOUR'S    TWO    HUSBANDS    47 

standing  up  with  a  certain  dignity  behind  his  defences. 
"  It  Avas  given  me  by — " 

He  hesitated  before  giving  the  name.  A  vision  of  tlie 
piteous  face  of  Lilias  Armour  when  she  had  spolcen  of  hm' 
husband  came  upon  him. 

*'  I  will  7wt  tell  the  name  of  the  friend  from  whom  I  got 
the  money,"  he  said  ;  "  that  concerns  no  one  here  except 
myself  alone  !" 

A  great  shout  of  ridicule  swept  up  from  the  inner  to 
the  outer  parlor  of  the  Red  Lion  as  the  men  heard  his 
answer. 

"  A  likely  story,  friends/'  sneered  "Walter  MacWalter, 
"he  will  not  tell.  He  stands  upon  his  honest  character. 
AVell,  listen,  I  can  prove  this  note  to  be  mine.  Miss  Bar- 
bara, will  you  tell  the  company  what  is  marked  with  a 
printed  date-stamp  in  the  left-hand  corner  of  the  back  ?" 

Miss  Barbara  deliberately  took  her  spectacles  out  of  their 
worn  shagreen  case,  and  mounted  them  with  circumspec- 
tion upon  her  nose, 

"  There  is  printed  upon  the  note  the  letters  "W.  MacW. 
1.  VII.  18—,"  she  said. 

Walter  MacWalter  nodded  with  a  satisfied  expression. 

"1  can  prove  that  that  is  my  ordinary  way  of  marking 
with  my  initials  and  a  date  every  note  that  comes  into  my 
possession.  I  have  a  sheaf  of  notes  similarly  stamped  in 
my  pocket.  I  cannot  have  stamped  them  since  I  came 
here,  for  my  dye  is  on  my  study  table  at  KirkosAvald. 
Again  I  demand  this  thief  shall  tell  us  from  whom  he  ob- 
tained this  note  marked  with  my  name  and  style — that  is, 
if  he  can  clear  himself  of  this  charge." 

'*I  decline  to  answer,"  said  the  tramp,  throwing  down 
his  knife  upon  the  little  table. 

At  this  point  Rob  Irvine  bravely  and  nobly  kicked  it 
underneath,  and  secured  the  weapon  after  it  had  rolled 
ringing  upon  the  floor. 

"  Seize  him,  hold  him  !"  cried  the  village  tailor,  getting 


48  KIT    KENNEDY 

as  far  behind  the  others  as  he  could,  but  behig  as  usual 
most  valorous  aud  even  vain-glorious  with  his  mouth. 

The  tramp  stood  with  his  hands  behind  him. 

Then  the  entire  company,  led  by  Walter  Mac  Walter, 
rushed  ujion  him  and  threw  him  by  mere  weight  upon  the 
floor.  They  held  his  hands ;  they  knelt  upon  his  poor 
hollow  chest;  their  hands  explored  his  pockets. 

''Hurrah,"  cried  the  big  packman,  who  had  become 
suddenly  prominent  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  tramp  on  the 
floor,  "I  hae  gotten  anither  ane,  and  here's  the  same 
mark — Mr.  Mac  Walter's  ain  stamj)  on  the  corner  !" 

They  raised  him  to  his  feet,  and  the  prisoner  stood 
swaying,  held  erect  by  a  dozen  hands.  A  thin  stream  of 
red  Avas  flowing  from  his  mouth. 

"Now,"  said  Walter  Mac  Walter,  standing  before  the 
captive,  truculently,  "will  you  or  will  you  not  confess 
your  theft,  or  tell  us  from  whom  you  received  these 
notes  ?" 

"  I  will  do  neither,"  said  the  tramp.  "  I  cannot.  A 
theft  I  never  committed  ;  and  I  will  not  tell  from  whom  I 
received  them,  for  it  is  no  business  of  yours  I" 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   WOMAN   DESPISED  AND   FORSAKEN 

There  was  a  certain  power  which  Lilias  Mac  Walter  had 
over  her  husband,  a  power  all  the  more  effective  because 
she  was  unconscious  of  exercisino;  it. 

Her  strength  was  the  strength  of  the  Quiet  Eye. 

It  was  this  which  met  and  countered  him  as  he  came  to 
the  hall  door  of  the  house  of  Kirkoswald,  heated  after  com- 
pany, hectoring  with  victory,  and  eager  to  begin  one  of 
those  quarrels  of  recrimination  in  which  he  could  vent 
upon  his  wife  his  furious  jealousy  of  her  past,  and  his 
hatred  of  the  boy  at  the  Black  Dornal. 

Walter  Mac  Walter  was  a  man  nominally  generous,  out- 
wardly freehanded,  a  man  anxious  for  popularity,  who  was 
yet  conscious  that  he  stood  naked  and  bare  before  his  wife's 
eye,  maskless,  pretenceless,  without  chiaroscuro  or  perspec- 
tive, revealed  as  pitilessly  as  a  geometrical  drawing  in 
which  meanness  and  brutality  have  been  reduced  to  lines 
and  letters. 

Lilias  was  sewing  in  the  little  parlor  when  Walter  Mac- 
Walter  trampled  in,  his  brows  red  with  the  angry  jamming 
of  his  hat  upon  them,  as  he  rode  over  from  Whinnyliggate 
after  seeing  the  thief  locked  up  for  the  night  in  the  single 
cell  of  which  the  village  constabulary  could  boast. 

He  had  meant  to  begin  with  the  question,  ''Where  are 
tho^e  two  pounds  which  I  gave  you  this  morning  ?"  The 
wor  Is  had  been  on  his  lips  all  the  way  home.  But  when 
his  wife  looked  up  from  her  woi'k  something  sprang  from 


50  KIT    KENNEDY 

her  eye,  and  for  that  time  at  least  the  insult  was  shut 
within  him.     The  quarrel  must  run  upon  other  lines. 

"Well,  are  you  glad  to  see  me?"  he  cried.  ''It  does 
not  look  very  like  it.  I  suppose  there  are  many  others  you 
would  welcome  more  effusively  than  your  husband?" 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  said  Lilias  MacWalter, 
quietly,  rising  to  put  away  her  work.  "  Will  you  have 
supper  now  ?" 

"I  do  not  want  any  supper.  I  want  to  talk,"  said  her 
husband.  "  Do  you  know  that  it  is  poor  cheer  for  a  man 
to  come  back  to  a  home  like  this,  a  wife  like  you,  and  a 
welcome  as  cold  as  dead  fish  on  an  ice  block  ?" 

"I  am  sorry  I  do  not  please  you,  Walter,"  said  his  wife, 
slowly,  without,  however,  looking  at  him.  "  I  will  try  to 
amend." 

He  was  growing  rapidly  angry,  his  own  evil  temper  find- 
ing fuel  in  the  expression  of  itself  in  words.  His  mood  of 
elated  triumph  had  passed. 

"If  I  had  known  what  a  wife  you  would  have  made,  I 
should  never  have  come  near  you,  I  declare  to  heaven  I 
would  not," he  cried,  striding  up  and  down.  "And  I  should 
have  let  the  bond  take  its  course.  I  would  have  bank- 
rupted your  canting  dog  of  a  father.  But  I  listened  to  your 
mother.  You  were  young.  You  were  pretty.  Yes,  I 
thought  so  years  ago.  You  had  been  ill-used  by  a  villian. 
You  would  forget  it,  your  mother  told  me.  Your  heart 
Avould  turn  fully  to  me.  Well,  I  did  Avhat  not  one 
man  in  a  hundred  would  have  done.  I  married  you 
—  I,  a  landed  proprietor,  a  man  against  whom  nothing 
could  be  alleged.  On  the  wedding  day  I  handed  your 
father  the  bond  on  his  farm  and  stock.  I  wished  to  God  I 
had  sold  him  up  and  sent  you  all  to  the  workhouse.  It 
would  have  been  better  for  both  of  us  !" 

"Better  for  me,  certainly,  Walter,"  she  made  answer, 
"  for  you  paid  money  for  that  which  money  cannot  pur- 
chase.    Coined  gold  can  buy  the  body  of  a  woman,  but  not 


A    WOMAN    DESPISED    AND    FORSAKEN  51 

her  soul.     I  promised  you  nothing  else  than  that  which 
you  have  obtained." 

''Your  love  Avould  answer  mine  in  time,  so  your  mother 
assured  me.  Other  children  would  take  your  mind  from 
the  brat  at  Black  Dornal.  Heavens,  how  I  have  been 
cheated  !  Your  heart  is  still  with  the  blackguard  who 
deceived  you.  You  run  over  every  spare  hour  to  see  that 
nameless  loon  at  your  father's." 

"  The  boy  is  not  nameless ;  he  has  his  father's  name," 
said  Lilias  Mac  Walter,  quietly;  "that  he  has  not  a  right 
to  it  is  no  fault  of  his  or  mine.  All  these  things  you  knew 
long  before  you  married  me.  And  if  I  love  my  son,  is  it 
not  natural  ?  But  a  childless  man  cannot  understand  the 
feelings  of  a  parent." 

The  man  flushed  at  the  low-spoken  words.  He  took 
them  as  a  taunt. 

"You  are  laughing  at  me,"  he  cried,  clinching  his  fist 
and  striding  over  to  where  she  stood  ;  "  woman,  take  care ! 
Some  have  laughed  at  AValter  Mac  Walter  who  have  lived 
to  regret  it.  Others  have  not  even  lived  to  repent.  One 
of  the  former  is  your  lover.  He  rests  in  a  prison  cell  to- 
night because  he  laughed  at  your  husband." 

He  watched  her  keenly,  but  Lilias's  face  did  not  betray 
her.  Its  grave  quiet  had  grown  with  suffering  and  repres- 
sion into  something  like  her  father's  calm.  It  made  the 
brutal  man  long  to  strike  her  down.  Once,  but  only  once, 
had  he  done  so  during  their  ill-starred  wedded  life. 

Seeing  that  she  did  not  mean  to  answer  he  began  again. 

"Yes,  Christopher  Kennedy  is  in  jail  for  stealing.  And 
as  I  know  the  sheriff  personally,  I  will  see  to  it  that  he  gets 
a  long  sentence.  He  will  do  well  if  he  escape  the  assizes 
and  seven  years." 

Once  more  AValter  Mac  Walter  had  it  on  his  tongue-tip 
to  ask  concerning  the  pound  notes.  But  with  the  cunning 
of  hate  he  discerned  that  it  would  be  more  bitter  to  Lilias 
Armour  to  know  that  her  former  lover,  the  man  whom  she 


52  KIT    KENNEDY 

had  once  believed  to  be  her  husband,  was  sulTering  for  her 
act,  while  for  very  shame  she  was  unable  to  speak  the  word 
which  would  clear  him. 

The  woman  rose,  still  without  making  answer,  and  began 
to  remove  the  unused  supper.  Her  husband  threw  him- 
self down  in  a  chair,  miscalled  an  easy-chair,  of  black  and 
shiny  haircloth.  He  lit  a  short,  black  pipe  and  puffed 
vigorously,  watching  his  wife  all  the  time  out  of  his  small, 
deeply  set  eyes. 

Presently  he  grunted,  thrust  his  fingers  into  the  bowl  of 
his  pipe,  and  turned  the  red-hot  contents  out  upon  the 
polished  mahogany  of  the  dining-table.  Then  he  capped 
it,  and  thrust  it  still  hot  into  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

Without  a  word  more  he  trampled  noisily  up  the  stairs, 
and  along  the  passage  to  his  bedroom.  She  heard  the  door 
slam  loudly.  Then  came  the  click  of  the  lock  as  she  stood 
with  the  bread  tray  in  her  hands  listening.  The  tang  of  a 
coarse  and  brutal  presence  hung  about  the  room,  together 
Avith  the  fumes  of  a  tobacco  scarcely  less  crude.  Lilias 
threw  up  the  windows  and  opened  the  outer  door.  Then 
she  sat  down  in  the  Avindow-seat,  and  looked  long  into  the 
dusk  of  the  summer  night. 

At  the  persuasion  of  her  mother  she  had  consented  to 
marry  Walter  MacWalter — to  save  her  father  (as  it  was 
put  to  her)  and  the  old  jilacc  of  Dornal.  She  did  not  re- 
gret her  act,  only  the  price  had  been  longer  in  the  paying 
than  she  had  expected.  After  the  desertion  of  Christopher 
Kennedy  and  the  birth  of  her  boy  she  had  not  expected  to 
live.  But  Death  comes  not  to  those  who  most  desire  him, 
and  her  father  had  tended  her  with  grave  and  deep  affec- 
tion during  the  days  of  darkness  which  were  so  many.  He 
had  laid  his  hand  upon  the  boy's  head,  and  promised  that 
he  should  be  to  him  even  as  one  of  his  own.  So  to  marry 
Walter  MacWalter  seemed  the  only  thing  that  she  could 
do  for  her  family,  and  she  did  it. 

But  now  trouble  had  come  upon  her  to  make  the  way 


A    WOMAN    DESPISED    AND    FORSAKEN    53 

more  difScnlt.  Christopher  Kennedy  Imd  returned,  like  a 
ghost  ont  of  the  darkness  Avhich  ]iad  swallowed  him.  He 
was  accused  of  stealing  the  money  she  had  given  him,  and 
being  the  wreck  he  was  he  would  doubtless  reveal  from 
whom  he  had  received  the  money.  She  would  be  called 
upon  to  testify.  For  herself  or  even  her  husband  she 
cared  little.  Nothing  could  make  matters  much  worse 
at  Kirkoswald.  But  her  father  —  and  the  boy.  She 
could  see  the  look  on  the  Elder's  face  if  he  were  to  hear 
of  it,  and  the  disgrace  would  cling  to  her  son  through 
life. 

Out  of  the  open  window  she  could  hear  the  birds  calling 
fitfully  on  the  moors,  and  the  sound  went  to  her  lonely 
heart  with  a  sense  of  kinship.  She  rose,  closed  the  window 
and  went  up-s.tairs,  dry-eyed  and  stony  cold. 

When  she  had  been  Christopher  Kennedy's  sweetheart 
she  had  wept  for  nothing  at  all.  Now  that  she  was  Walter 
MacWalter's  wife  nothing  could  make  her  weep. 

The  Sheriff  Substitute  of  the  Stewartry  sat  easily  in  his 
official  chair.  He  had  seen  to  it  that  it  was  a  comfortable 
chair. 

"If  I  must  sit  here  and  make  my  bread  by  listening  to 
liars/''  he  was  wont  to  remark — "  no,  I  do  not  mean  law- 
yers— I  may  as  Avell  sit  easy." 

Sheriff  Nicoll  was  a  man  of  parts,  of  wit  and  of  heart, 
accounted  the  soundest  lawyer  and  the  best  company  for  a 
hundred  miles.  He  was  kindly  and  shrewd,  filled  also  with 
charity  and  understanding.  Not  a  poacher  but  felt  a  cer- 
tain community  of  sentiment  between  himself  and  the 
Sheriff  as  he  stood  before  him. 

''Shure  an'  it's  your  hanor  that  knows  the  rules,"  said 
Mick  Donelly,  Avho  was  up  for  having  in  his  possession 
four  pheasants  of  which  he  could  give  no  better  account 
than  that  they  had  '^flewn  agin'  a  telegraft  wire,"  and  that 
''to  keep  down  sour  reek"  he  had  put  them  in  bis  pocket. 


54  KIT    KENNEDY 

"And  ye  won't  be  hard  on  a  poor  man,  for  shnre  manny's 
the  dainty  long-tail  your  hanor  has  wiled  from  the  branch 
Avhen  the  moon  was  in  the  sky !" 

"I  wad  raither  tak'  a  month  'with'frae  yersel' — I  de- 
clare to  a  merciful  Providence — than  three  days  '  withoot' 
frae  Sherra  Howp,  the  ill-stammacked,  soor-faced  repro- 
bate that  he  is !"  was  the  verdict  of  Mary  Purdie,  as  she 
stood  up  to  receive  her  sixty-fifth  conviction  for  behaving 
in  a  riotous  manner  (under  the  influence)  and  resisting  the 
police  in  the  exercise  of  their  duty. 

And  Mary  ought  to  have  been  an  authority  upon  the 
subject. 

The  windows  of  the  Sheriff's  court  looked  up  the  long 
street  of  St.  Cuthbert's  Town.  The  court  sat  at  ten  o'clock, 
and  the  tramp  was  brought  in  Avith  several  casual  cases 
from  Cairn  Edward  and  Urrston. 

As  soon  as  the  court  had  been  opened  the  tramp  spoke 
out  in  the  voice  of  an  educated  man. 

"Your  honor,  I  am  anxious  that  my  case  should  be 
taken  first.     Is  it  in  order  that  I  be  tried  now  ?" 

"Who  may  you  be  that  are  in  such  a  hurry  —  John 
Smith  your  name  is,  I  see  by  the  sheet.  Fiscal,  what  has 
John  been  doing  ?  Stealing  two  pounds. ,  That  is  serious, 
John.  Well,  John  Smith,  we  may  as  well  get  it  over  soon 
as  syne  !" 

"The  chief  witness,  Mr.  Walter  Mac  Walter,  is  not  yet 
in  court,"  objected  the  Procurator  Fiscal. 

"He  will  be  here  in  a  moment,"  said  the  Sheriff,  easily; 
"I  saw  him  at  the  King's  Arms  with  his  wife." 

A  tremor  of  anxiety  passed  over  the  shattered  frame  of 
the  accused. 

"I  do  not  want  any  evidence  led,"  he  said;  "I  plead 
guilty  to  the  charge  !" 

The  Sheriff  leaned  forward  in  astonishment. 

"  Did  I  understand  you  to  say  that  you  plead  guilty  to 
having  stolen  these  two  pound  notes  here  produced  from 


A    WOMAN    DESPISED    AND    FORSAKEN   55 

the  pocket  of  Mr.  MacWalter  in  the  parlor  of  the  Red 
Lion  in  the  village  of  Whinnyliggate  ?" 

''I  plead  guilty  !"  said  the  tramp,  with  his  eye  anxiously 
cast  np  the  long  High-street  of  St.  Cuthbert's.  He  could 
see  a  woman  coming  down  it  alone,  a  woman  slender  and 
clad  in  black,  yet  with  a  certain  swing  in  her  carriage  and 
a  set  of  the  head  which  even  yet  came  back  to  him  in 
his  dreams. 

"Well,"  mused  the  Sheriff,  "this  is  your  first  offence, 
John.  The  police  know  nothing  against  you  except  that 
you  are  overfond  of  the  bottle.  The  fondness  is  not  un- 
common among  all  classes"  (here  the  Sheriff  sighed). 
"  The  only  difference  is  that  we  don't  all  put  our  hands 
into  our  neighbors'  pockets.  I  am  willing  to  believe  that 
you  had  a  drop  too  much  that  night,  and  your  frank  con- 
fession takes  me  by  surprise,  and — would  you  like  it  'with' 
or  'without?' — I  prefer  'with'  myself;  you  get  better 
food  and  more  of  it." 

"  With  ?  Then  I  think  three  months  will  meet  the  case. 
Officer,  remove  the  prisoner.  Ah,  Mary  I  you  haven't  been 
here  for  two  whole  months.  I  was  missing  you,  Mary. 
What  is  it  this  time,  Mary  ?" 

But  ere  he  could  take  up  Mary  Purdie's  sixty-sixth  breach 
of  the  peace  Lilias  MacWalter  had  entered  the  court. 

"My  lord,"  she  began,  breathlessly,  "  there  is  a  mistake. 
I  know  this  man,  I — " 

But  she  got  no  further.  She  was  stopped  by  the  con- 
victed criminal. 

"The  lady  is  mistaken,"  he  said,  firmly;  "she  means  to 
be  kind.  But  she  is  entirely  mistaken.  I  never  set  eyes 
on  her  before !" 

"I  am  afraid  that  the  case  is  settled,"  said  the  Sheriff, 
kindly.  "But  be  quite  at  ease,  Mrs.  MacAV alter.  John 
Smith  pled  guilty,  and  I  let  him  off  easily.  I  can  quite 
understand  your  regret  that  your  husband  should,  by  his 
careless  habit  of  carrying  notes  loose  in  his  overcoat  jDocket, 


56  KIT    KENNEDY 

have  thrown  temptation  in  this  poor  man's  way.  I  daresay 
he  had  a  drop  too  much,  and  in  any  case  he  has  got  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt.  May  we  all  get  the  same  when  our 
time  comes ;  God  knows  we  shall  need  it !  Next,  Fiscal." 
Such  Avas  the  ordinary  course  of  justice  in  the  very  in- 
formal tribunal  presided  over  by  Sheriff  Nicoll. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

HEATHER   JOCK    AND    HIS    BILLY-O 

Heather  Jock  lived  at  the  Back  o'  Beyoiit.  Jock's 
name  was  baptismally  John  Kinstrae,  but  he  had  so  long 
borne  the  appellation  of  Heather  Jock  that  he  actually 
started  when  any  one  called  him  John.  And  it  is  on  record 
that  when  a  new  minister  witli  a  copy  of  the  communion 
roll  in  his  pocket  asked  him  by  the  wayside  where  "Mr. 
Kinstrae"  lived,  Jock  replied,  "  Fegs,  sir,  I  dinna  ken  him 
— he's  no  a  here-aboots  man  !" 

Jock's  business  in  life  was  the  manufacture  of  heather 
"  besoms,"  otherwise  brooms.  With  these  he  supplied  the 
good  wives  of  half  the  Stewartry,  and  had  been  known  to 
venture  as  far  as  Wigtonshire  with  his  produce.  Here, 
however,  he  found  his  goods  out  of  line  with  the  local  taste, 
which  preferred  a  shorter  and  scrubbier  article  as  more 
generally  effective. 

"Awfu'  pernikkety  fowk  as  they  are  on  the  Shireside," 
he  would  say  to  the  parliament  gathered  in  Hutcheon's 
smithy  at  nights  when  the  boys  had  set  him  on  to  tell  his 
perilous  'scapes.  "'They  are  no  content  wi'  giein'  a  pot  a 
bit  syne  wi'  a  jaw  o'  water.  They  maun  hae  a  scrubber 
made  special-like  for  gettin'  intil  a'  the  lirks  and  corners. 
Siccan  a  fyke  !  And  they  caa'  peas  ''pays'  an'  peats  'pates' 
as  if  they  Avere  a'  Paddies.     Aye,  they  do  that !" 

To  the  manufacture  of  besoms  of  ling  Heather  Jock 
added  some  traffic  in  eggs  and  the  toothsome  salted  mutton 
hams  of  the  moorland  districts.     The  Back  o'  Beyont  was 


58  KIT    KENNEDY 

a  solitary  place,  and  being  situated  on  a  led  farm  (that  is,  a 
farm  held  by  a  non-resident  farmer),  Jock  was  permitted 
by  the  favor  of  his  landlord  to  keep  a  score  of  black-faced 
sheep  on  the  shaggy  slopes  of  the  Yont  hill.  For  this  he 
was  trysted  to  give  what  help  he  could  to  the  herd  of  the 
Black  House  o'  Beyont  in  lambing  time,  and  generally  to 
be  to  him  a  good  and  not  unprofitable  neighbor  on  the  face 
of  the  moorland. 

It  was  furthermore  curious  that,  though  according  to 
the  revenue  reports  smuggling  had  long  been  as  extinct  in 
Galloway  as  the  cave  bear  or  the  wolf,  yet  nevertheless 
Heather  Jock  could  produce  upon  occasion  a  thickish 
beverage,  oily  and  yellow  as  a  liqueur,  and  as  fragrant  of 
peat  reek  as  his  own  homespun  clothing.  Of  course 
Heather  Jock  did  not  retail  this  article,  which  was  under- 
stood to  have  grand  stomachic  qualities.  But  when  a 
farmer  or  well-to-do  cottier  asked  if  it  would  be  possible 
to  get  a  dose  or  two  of  his  famous  "  yerb  "  cordial.  Heather 
Jock  would  say  that  fennel  and  henbane  were  scarce  this 
year,  but,  seeing  that  it  was  himseF — why,  he  thought  the 
thing  could  be  managed. 

Heather  Jock  had  lived  long  all  alone  by  himself  in  a 
low- thatched  but-and-ben  cot-house,  lying  so  close  to  the 
brown  moorland  that  its  whereabout  could  only  be  made 
out  by  the  "  pew"  of  blue  reek  which  rose  from  the  rough 
chimney  in  the  gable,  to  be  promptly  blown  down  again 
over  the  heath  and  green  "quakkin'  quaas."* 

At  this  time  Heather  Jock  Avas  a  hearty,  good-looking, 
loquacious  man  of  forty,  sound  as  a  hazel-nut  out  of  the 
Glen  Wood,  and  keen-bitten  as  a  dust-scattering  wind  of 
March.  He  was  naturally  not  averse  from  the  society  of 
women-kind,  but  he  had  hitherto  fought  shy  of  offering 
any  of  them  the  use  of  his  name.  He  had  never  made  up 
to  any  of  the  country  lasses,  and  it  was  one  of  the  recog- 

*  Shaking  bogs,  dangerous  to  cattle  and  wandering  men. 


HEATH  Eli    JOCK    AND    II  IS    IilLLY-0     59 

nized,  and,  indeed,  expected  jests  of  the  glen  Jind  strath 
to  rally  Jock  on  his  prolonged  bachelordom,  and  to  ask 
him  when  he  thought  of  taking  a  mistress  up  to  the  Back 
o'  Beyont. 

''Deed,"  he  would  answer,  "■  there's  fools  enough  up  on 
the  muir  wi'  me,  an'  the  cuddy,  and  Davit  Caruthers  the 
herd  o'  Yont.  What  need  o'  a  woman  to  mak'  a  fourth  ? 
Aye,  an'  she  michtna  stop  there.  She  miclit  maybes  breed 
mair.  I  hae  kenned  as  muckle.  Na,  na;  I  ken  what  I  hae, 
but  I  dinna  ken  what  I  micht  get  if  I  began  thae  capers." 

There  was  no  better  known  or  gladsomer  sight  than 
Heather  Jock  and  his  donkey  on  all  the  drove-roads  and 
farm-loanings  of  the  Stewartry,  nor  one  more  welcome  to 
gentle  and  simple  alike.  He  had  a  heartsome  Avord  for 
everybody,  and  even  the  revenue  officers  who  suspected 
him,  and  the  tinkers  whom  he  alternately  fought  and 
shared  his  bite  of  bread  and  dish  of  tea  with,  liked  him 
and  would  wave  their  hands  as  soon  as  Heather  Jock  and 
his  companion  hove  in  sight. 

Specially  all  children  loved  him.  Heather  Jock  could 
clear  a  school  green  at  any  time. 

"Wha  has  coupit  the  boy-hoose  ?"  he  would  ask,  as  a 
whole  village  green  came  tagging  after  him  and  his  donkey. 
Duncan  Duncanson,  dej)Osed  minister  and  schoolmaster  in 
the  village  of  "VVhinnyliggate,  was  the  only  man  who  hated 
the  sight  of  Heather  Jock.  He  knew  that  there  would  be 
a  thin  school  that  day  and  many  court-martials  on  the 
morrow  for  the  high  misdemeanor  of  truancy. 

But  in  every  relation  of  life  Heather  Jock  was  emi- 
nently a  man  who  could  be  trusted.  Many  errands  he 
performed  that  could  not  be  given  to  any  other.  His 
wandering  habits  and  uncertain  purpose  kept  him  unsus- 
pected, and  Jock,  though  himself  not  only  celibate,  but  on 
the  subject  of  his  own  feelings  almost  cynical,  had  carried 
and  delivered  safely  more  love-letters  than  any  other  dozen 
men  in  the  parish. 


GO  KIT    KENNEDY 

He  called  regularly  at  the  house  of  Kirkoswald  to  buy 
the  mistress's  butter  and  eggs,  and  to  ask  if  any  besoms 
were  needed  for  the  stable  yard,  any  scrubbers  for  the 
kitchen,  or  any  peesweep's  eggs,  cranberries,  blaeberries, 
raspberries,  blackberries — all  which  he  was  jDrepared  to 
supply  according  to  the  season  and  tlie  abundance  or  scar- 
city of  these  moorland  delicacies. 

On  such  occasions  he  often  came  across  the  master  of  the 
house,  and  "Walter  Mac  Walter  had  tried  his  wit  and  bluster 
against  Jock's  triple  armor  of  shrewd  secrecy  and  unfailing 
good  humor.  He  had,  in  fact,  on  more  than  one  occasion 
ordered  Jock  oif  the  premises  as  a  wandering  gj'psy  fellow 
who  could  be  after  no  good.  But  Jock,  while  never  re- 
fusing to  obey,  had  so  punctuated  his  retreat  with  caustic 
sayings,  and  so  revenged  himself  the  next  time  he  chanced 
to  encounter  his  enemy  at  market,  kirk-door,  or  public 
house,  that  Mac  Walter,  a  man  to  whom  pojjularity  was  as 
the  breath  of  life,  had  long  fallen  back  upon  valor's  better 
part,  and  now  permitted  Heather  Jock  to  come  and  go 
about  Kirkoswald  without  notice  or  protest. 

Lilias  on  every  occasion  interviewed  Jock  herself.  She 
neither  trusted  her  indoor  handmaid  Kate  nor  any  of  the 
outdoor  servants  to  arrange  matters  with  the  ''general 
dealer,"  as  Heather  Jock  described  himself  in  the  census 
paper. 

"Aye,  mistress,"  he  would  say,  "and  that's  the  last 
fardin'  that  I  can  allow  ye  for  eggs.  There's  a  sair  glut  o' 
them  in  the  Dumfries  market.  I  declare  I  think  that  the 
fowk  maun  be  eatin'  puddocks  and  asks.  They  winna  buy 
good  honest  meat,  or  if  they  buy  it,  they  winna  pay  a  price 
for  it,  but  expect  ye  to  cairry  it  to  their  doors  and  then  pay 
them  to  tak'  it  aff  your  hand  !" 

At  that  moment  "Walter  Mac  Walter  was  passing  along 
the  path  which  led  from  the  back  door  at  which  this  collo- 
quy took  place.  He  happened  to  be  going  in  the  direction 
of  the  stable,  and  so  long  as  he  was  in  ear -shot  so  long 


HEATHER    JOCK    AND    HIS    BILLY-O     Gl 

Heatlier  Jock  continued  to  denounce  the  short-sighted 
folly  and  stupidity  of  "  town-buyers." 

But  when  there  was  no  longer  any  danger  of  a  listening 
ear.  Heather  Jock  spoke  in  a  lower  tone  of  quite  other 
matters. 

"  I  am  gaun  ower  by  to  the  Black  Dornal,"  he  said. 
"  Ye'll  maybe  hae  nae  word  to  gang  there,  hae  ye,  mis- 
tress r 

From  a  small  wall -cupboard  Lilias  produced  a  bundle 
apparently  tied  up  in  a  linen  handkerchief.  At  least,  there 
was  a  flash  of  something  wrapped  in  white,  which  passed 
so  quickly  into  the  great  inner  pocket  of  Heather  Jock's 
coat  that  no  clear  account  of  it  can  be  given. 

"And  as  I  was  sayin'  to  you,  mistress,  aboot  thae  eggs, 
it's  juist  no  possible — " 

The  voice  of  Heather  Jock  took  up  the  former  topic  with 
zest  and  in  a  high  key  as  Mac  Walter's  head  appeared  at 
the  stable  door.  Then,  with  a  sudden  confidential  drop, 
he  ran  over  his  instructions  as  soon  as  it  had  again  disap- 
peared within. 

"  Aye,  hinnie,  rest  ye  easy  in  your  mind.  I'll  see  till 
the  boy,  and  tell  ye  what  like  he  is,  a  fine  callant  as  ever 
ran  on  legs.  I'll  let  your  mither  ken  that  ye  canna  come 
to  the  Dornal  this  week.  And  she  shall  hae  the  package 
safe  frae  my  ain  hand.  Then  this  is  Tuesday,  and  I'll  be 
back  by  Friday  on  my  rounds.  And  gin  ye  be  at  the  white 
sands  by  the  lochside  at  ten  o'  the  clock,  the  bairn  shall  be 
there  withouten  ony  fail.  He  will  come  wi'  me  for  a  word. 
The  boy  is  no  born  that  winna  rin  till  he  draps  after  Heather 
Jock  and  his  bit  cuddy." 

A  heavy  step  was  heard  on  the  gravel  of  the  path,  and 
with  it  came  an  alteration  in  Jock's  tones  and  subject- 
matter. 

"An'  I'll  be  this  gate  on  Friday,  mistress,  an'  bring  ye 
the  siller  change  faithfully.  And  the  twa  crocks  and  the 
Avhite  sugar  as  weel — or  else  puir  Jock  will  be  laired  in  a 


62  KIT    KENNEDY 

moss -hole.  It  is  a  fine  day,  Maister  MacWalter,  and  a 
bonny  bit  ye  hae  here.  And  my  service  to  you,  mistress, 
and  thank  ye  for  your  kindly  custom/' 

Heather  Jock  took  the  village  of  Whinnyliggate  on  his 
way  to  the  Dornal.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  seen  going 
straight  from  Kirkoswald  to  the  farm  of  the  Elder.  For 
it  was  one  of  Walter  MacWalter's  most  distasteful  and 
unpopular  peculiarities  that  he  Avas  wont  to  keep  track  of 
his  workers,  and  others  in  whose  movements  he  was  in- 
terested, with  the  assistance  of  a  pocket  pair  of  field- 
glasses. 

Jock's  cuddy  was  generally  addressed  familiarly  as 
"  Billy-0,"  and  one  of  Billy-0's  duties  was  to  carry  salt  to 
the  good  wives  of  Whinnyliggate. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  village  the  street  fell  away 
sharply  towards  the  smithy  and  the  school  gate,  and  here 
the  houses  were  built  high  on  the  bank,  with  a  kind  of 
terrace  of  stone  slabs  in  front.  Along  this  Heather  Jock 
took  his  way,  rapping  with  his  knuckles  loudly  on  every 
shut  door,  and  then  with  the  free  habit  of  the  countryside 
opening  without  waiting  for  any  answer  and  crying  in  his 
wares  to  the  busy  good  wives  within. 

Meanwhile  Billy-0  stood  below  patiently  waiting  his 
master's  orders,  and  as  Heather  Jock  passed  from  house 
to  house  on  the  terrace  above,  Billy-0  kept  exact  pace 
with  him  on  the  roadway  beneath. 

The  progression  of  events  was  something  as  follows  : 

"  Eat-tat-tat !  Ony  saut — grand  saut — clean  saut !  A 
new  crap  juist  in,  fresh  as  this  morning's  milk,  and  fresher 
than  last  Sabbath's  sermon  —  for  that  was  nae  chicken. 
What's  that  ye  say,  Mistress  MacNab  ?  Faith  I  said  to 
the  minister  that  he  should  hae  pitten  it  doon  at  the  manse 
door,  and  it  wad  hae  kenned  the  way  to  the  pulpit  itseF. 
It  had  been  there  sae  af  ten  !" 

"What,  nae  saut  the  day!  What's  wrang.  Mistress 
Landsborougli  ?     Saut's  no  that  dear  that  ye  should  spare 


HEATHER    JOCK    AND    HIS    BILLY-O     6;3 

it  oot  o'  the  porridge.  D'ye  tell  me  sae — ye  havena  fin- 
ished the  last  ye  got  ?     What,  nae  saut  ?" 

At  this  point  Mistress  Landsborough's  door  was  closed 
with  a  sharp  report,  and  in  a  loud  voice  apparently  con- 
tinuous with  the  previous  colloquy  Heather  Jock  went  on. 

"What,  nae  saut!     Then  go-o  on,  thou  baist,  Billy-0 !" 

And  at  the  word  Billy-0  obediently  moved  on  to  the 
next  house  while  his  master  attacked  the  door  on  the 
terrace. 

''■  Ony  saut — what  ?  No  ?  Then  go-o  on  thou  baist, 
Billy-0  I" 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   SPOILS    OF   WAR 

It  was  ever  a  great  clay  and  a  bright  for  Kit  Kennedy 
wlien  Heather  Jock  came  up  the  loaning  to  the  Black 
Dornal.  It  was  indeed  the  one  thing  which  instigated  him 
to  keep  track  of  the  days  of  the  week.  Wednesdays  and 
Saturdays  were  Jockos  statutory  festivals,  but  sometimes 
he  would  arrive  on  another  day,  mostly,  alas  !  in  the 
gloaming  when  Kit  was  going  to  bed  under  the  deter- 
mined superintendence  of  his  grandmother,  a  lady  who 
stood  no  nonsense  on  the  subject  of  baths,  or  apples  under 
the  bedclothes — the  last  mentioned  of  which  had  been 
known  to  be  connived  at  by  the  Elder. 

But  as  surely  as  the  Wednesday  and  Saturday  came 
round  Kit  would  be  found  at  play  on  the  heights  of  the 
Craigs,  rolling  heathery  wildernesses  with  the  most  fas- 
cinating nooks  and  corners,  hiding-places  and  rocky  watch- 
towers,  that  could  possibly  be  imagined  by  the  mind  of  boy. 
Here  with  Royal  and  Tweed,  his  satellite  dogs.  Kit  kept 
his  vigil,  and  was  always  the  first  to  discern,  far  down  the 
dusty  road,  the  advent  of  Heather  Jock  and  his  donkey. 
From  that  point  Kit  would  keep  up  a  succession  of  wild 
war  whoops,  intended  to  announce  that  Sir  Kit  the  Ken- 
nedy was  on  the  lookout  for  his  enemies,  and  that  whoever 
attacked  his  fortress  of  Craigs  Castle  did  so  at  his  peril. 

But  secretly  and  within  himself,  during  all  his  wild 
charges  and  multiplied  flourishings  of  wooden  swords  and 
Avavings  of  red  petticoat  banners.  Kit  Avas  secretly  think- 


THE    SPOILS    OF    WAR  65 

ing  how  he  would  spend  liis  bi-wcckly  penny,  which  he 
received  from  his  grandfather  each  day  that  Heather 
Jock's  travelling  emporium  came  that  way. 

As  he  overran  the  possibilities  in  his  mind,  the  charms 
of  four  farthing  biscuits  were  first  of  all  balanced  by  the 
superior  toothsomeness  of  two  halfpenny  cookies.  To  this 
succeeded  what  might  be  termed  the  study  of  the  arts  in 
the  shape  of  gingerbread  elephants  and  rabbits  with  bulbous 
currant  eyes.  These  last  were  delightful  to  pull  to  pieces, 
but  the  extraction  of  the  fruitage  (apparently  dry  frag- 
ments of  old  boots)  was  a  joy  fleeting  though  acute. 
Again  he  would  call  to  mind  the  extended  satisfaction  of 
a  penny  Cairn  Edward  loaf,  a  production  of  human  skill 
which  gave  as  much  crust  in  proportion  to  as  little  bread 
as  has  ever  yet  been  compassed  by  merely  human  baker. 

If  Kit  were  hungry  (which  happened  nine  days  out  of 
ten),  the  penny  loaf  would  win  the  day.  But  during  the 
season  of  gooseberries  and  apples,  or  when  the  blackberries 
were  hanging  in  clusters  all  along  the  Dornal  Bank  and 
down  by  the  lochside,  Kit  could  aiford  to  treat  himself  to 
a  daintier  gingerbread  rabbit  or  the  pennyworth  of  farthing 
biscuits  which  made  exactly  four  bites  and  no  more. 

On  the  morning  of  this  day,  the  Wednesday  after  Heath- 
er Jock's  visit  to  the  house  of  Kirkoswald,  Kit  Kennedy 
Avas  early  astir.  The  problem  needed  more  than  usually 
careful  consideration.  It  was  true  that  it  was  not  likely 
that  he  would  be  very  hungry.  His  grandmother,  in  con- 
junction with  Betty  Landsborough  her  maid,  was  known 
to  be  meditating  the  great  fortnightly  baking  of  "cake." 
Now  '*  cake  "  in  Scotland  does  not  mean  the  stolid  overladen 
indigestible  pudding-stone  compound  of  Christmas  Eng- 
land, but  the  crisp  homely  farle  of  thin  oatmeal,  kneaded 
and  rolled  to  the  thickness  of  good  blotting-paper,  and 
thereafter  toasted  on  an  iron  "  girdle  "  to  such  a  miracle  of 
fresh  "  crumpiness  "  that  the  pen  refuses  to  describe  and 
the  mere  thought  of  it  secretes  appetite. 


66  KIT    KENNEDY 

Now  Kit  did  not  steal.  Who  indeed  eon  Id  be  supposed 
to  steal  with  the  approbation  and  under  the  instruction  of 
an  Elder  of  the  Cameronian  Kirk  ?  Sometimes  it  seemed 
as  if  Kit  had  changed  his  grandfather's  nature.  Perhaps 
the  old  man  felt  he  must  make  up  to  the  son  for  that 
wherein  he  had  erred  in  over-severity  to  the  mother.  So  it 
chanced  that  a  boy  of  less  than  Kit  Kennedy's  invariably 
cheerful  optimism  and  sturdy  acceptance  of  the  facts  of 
life  would  have  run  a  good  chance  of  being  spoiled. 

But  Kit  Kennedy  was  not  spoiled.  True,  he  did  not 
steal,  but  then  again  he  certainly  made  raids  upon  the 
kitchen  at  intervals.  And  Avhen  his  grandmother  opened 
the  door  of  the  milk-house,  he  had  even  been  known  to 
follow  close  at  her  back,  the  soft  pads  of  his  bare  brown 
feet  making  no  more  sound  than  a  cat's  on  the  stone  floor. 
He  would  stop  when  she  stopped,  turn  when  she  turned, 
and  finally  slip  out  behind  her  when  like  a  full-canvassed, 
deep-cargoed  ship  she  went  about  to  lock  the  door.  But 
Kit  did  not  leave  the  milk-house  alone.  He  brought  a 
pat  of  butter  or  a  jug  of  cream  with  him,  still  following 
stealthily  in  the  wake  of  that  stately  caravel.  Mistress 
Matthew  Armour. 

Then,  the  raid  having  been  successfully  carried  out.  Kit 
would  right  gleefully  repair  to  the  seat,  on  which  under 
the  great  beach  trees  sat  the  Ruling  Elder.  Upon  this, 
all  unreproved,  he  would  deposit  his  hoard,  and  his  grand- 
father, an  accessory  before  the  fact,  would  become  still 
further  art  and  part  in  the  crime  by  condescending  to 
partake  of  the  spoils  of  war. 

'^  I  wonder  ye  arena  shamed,  Matthew  Armour,"  his  wife 
would  say,  "an'  you  at  a  session  meetin' yestreen  at  the 
manse,  nae  farther  gane.  Porbye  next  Sabbath  day  ye  will 
cairry  in  the  communion  cups  frae  the  vestry  wi'  a'  the  ither 
elders  walkin'  ahint  ye.  And  yet  ye  arc  aye  encouragin' 
that  ill-set  loon  to  plunder  and  torment  your  ain  married 
wife — the  impident,  graceless  young  reprobate  that  he  is  !" 


THE    SPOILS    OF    WAR  67 

"Aweel,  aweel,  wife/'  Matthew  Armour  would  say, 
tolerantly,  "  I  ken  that  the  laddie  does  mo  mair  guid  than 
I  am  likely  to  do  him  harm." 

"Matthew,  Matthew,"  his  wife  would  persist,  shaking 
her  head,  ''mind  what  ye  do.  Think,  oot  o' whatna  pit 
the  laddie  has  been  digged.  Ye  ought  to  be  stricter  wi' 
him  than  ever  ye  were  wi'  your  ain,  and  ye  are  the  verra 
reverse.  The  sun  maunna  shine  ower  warm  on  him,  nor  a 
shadow  fa'  cauld  on  him.  He  maunna  be  reproved  nor 
meddled  wi'  whatever  mischief  he  does.  I  bid  you  bethink 
yoursel',  Matthew  Armour,  lest  ye  reap  in  heaviness  that 
which  ye  have  sowed  sae  lichtly  wi'  your  hand." 

''Margaret,"  said  her  husband,  more  seriously,  "yince 
and  for  a'  I  hae  learned  my  lesson.  That  boy  has  showed 
to  me  that  the  warst  bairn  is  better  than  the  best  man." 

Mistress  Armour  held  uj)  her  hands  in  silent  protest 
against  such  sentiments.  Then,  feeling  that  the  matter 
was  far  beyond  her  words,  and  having  a  life-time's  experi- 
ence of  the  uselessness  of  arguing  with  her  husband,  she 
fell  back  upon  her  cake-baking,  and  her  proven  ability  to 
take  it  out  of  Betty  Landsborough. 

"Betty,"  she  would  cry,  as  she  went  into  the  kitchen, 
"ye  are  but  a  feather-headed  lassie.  Ye  think  o'  naething 
but  the  vain  adornment  o' your  frail  tabernacle,  and  aiblins 
Avhat  lads  will  come  up  the  loanin'  courtin'  ye  this  nicht. 
Mind  ye,  there  are  mair  eternal  verities  to  be  considered 
than  lads  and  bonnets  wi'  gum-floo'ers.  And"  (in  a  louder 
tone,  as  being  more  pressing  matter  for  consideration  than 
even  the  eternal  verities)  "  mind  the  scones  on  the  girdle. 
Gin  ye  frizzle  them  up  into  fair  sole  leather,  I  declare  to 
peace  that  I  Avill  gie  ye  a  dand  on  the  side  o'  the  head  that 
Avill  pit  ye  by  looking  at  a  lad  till  September  fair.  Noo,  ye 
hear  me,  Betty  Landsborough." 

Then  Mistress  Armour,  active  as  at  twenty  in  spite  of 
her  sixty-five  years,  Avould  whisk  about  quickly  with  a 
sense  of  some  unseen   presence  behind  her.     Sometimes 


68  KIT    KENNEDY 

she  would  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  small  boy  in  a  tattered  pair 
of  knickerbockers  with  a  couple  of  ravished  cakes  of  oat- 
meal in  his  hand,  making  desperate  attempts  to  keep 
directly  behind  her,  so  as  to  be  out  of  her  line  of  vision,  or, 
alternatively,  to  reach  the  outer  door  before  she  could  take 
in  the  situation  and  rally  her  forces. 

"  0  ye  blastie  !"  she  would  cry,  "  ye  are  at  it  again.  And 
me  no  done  speakin'  to  your  grandfaither  aboot  your  on- 
gangin's  !  Think  shame  !  I'll  gar  ye  sup  sorrow  for  this. 
Gin  I  catch  ye  ye  shall  never  sit  on  an  easy  seat  for  a  month 
and  mair  !     Lay  doon  that  cake.     Wad  ye,  then  ?" 

As  she  spoke  she  made  desiderate  attempts  to  head  him 
off  from  the  door. 

"Catch  him,  Betty!  There  —  ye  hae  him!  Oh,  the 
loon  V 

Almost  Kit  had  been  caught,  but  the  very  desperation  of 
his  case  supplied  him  with  Avit. 

"  Oh,  granny,  granny  !"  he  cried,  pointing  behind  her 
with  a  sudden  stop  and  a  scared  expression  on  his  face; 
''  there's  a  fire  in  the  lum — " 

"  Save  ns  !"  cried  his  grandmother  ;  "  d'ye  tell  me  that  ? 
I  aye  kenned  that  something  wad  happen  that  lum — " 

She  wheeled  about  with  more  alacrity  than  seemed  pos- 
sible to  one  so  solid  of  frame  and  compendious  of  garment- 
ure.  The  fire  was  indeed  burning  on  the  hearth  and 
reaching  up  the  "lum,"  but  only  as  it  had  done  every 
baking  day  since  the  beginning  of  the  world.  Mistress 
Armour  recognized  that  she  had  been  taken  in,  and  turned 
with  speed  to  recover  her  advantage.  But  naturally  she 
was  just  a  moment  too  late. 

Kit  had  dived  under  her  uplifted  arm,  and  dodging  the 
amused  Betty,  who  was  vainly  trying  to  control  her  mirth, 
he  had  carried  off  his  spoils.  He  was  now  well  on  his  way 
to  the  seat  under  the  beech-trees,  breaking  off  alternate 
bits  for  himself  and  for  Royal,  his  great  lolloping  red  collie, 
as  he  Avent. 


THE    SPOILS    OF    WAR  G9 

"  Betty  Landsborough,  ye  are  a  useless,  handless  besom. 
I'se  warrant  ye  are  in  league  with  the  ill-set  young  vaiga- 
bond.  Certes,  lass,  but  ye  shall  walk  at  the  term.  I  rede 
ye  tak'  your  warnin'  noo,  and  never  a  character  will  ye  get, 
ye  guid-for-naething,  ungratefu'  besom  that  ye  are  !" 

Wisely  Betty  Landsborough  made  no  answer,  knowing 
well  that  the  energetic  old  lady  would  forget  all  about  her 
warning  in  half  an  hour,  and  would,  if  taxed  with  it,  even 
deny  ever  having  said  such  a  word. 

On  such  an  occasion  Mistress  Armour  cooled  gradually. 
At  first  she  declared  that  nothing  would  induce  her  to 
keep  such  a  rascal  a  moment  longer  about  the  house — a 
threat  Avhich,  so  long  as  Kit's  grandfather  remained  his 
ally,  was  knowingly  and  notoriously  empty  and  vain.  Then, 
alternately,  she  went  on  to  upbraid  the  ill-setness  of  Betty, 
and  to  remind  her  of  the  fact  that  in  the  time  of  trial  she 
had  even  laughed  at  her  mistress.  But  as  nobody  was 
much  affected  these  manifestations  soon  ceased,  and  she 
confined  herself  to  such  propositions  as  that  it  was  high 
time  the  young  vaigabond  went  to  school,  and  that  "  in  her 
young  days  weans  were  not  spoiled — no,  and  servants  had 
more  respect  for  their  mistresses  !"  So  it  came  about  that 
from  much  dropping  the  stone  was  worn  away  at  last,  and 
Kit  Kennedy  Avas  in  good  earnest  to  be  sent  to  school. 

It  chanced,  however,  that  this  resolve  of  Mistress  Ar- 
mour's, falling  in  Avith  a  letter  which  her  daughter  Lilias 
had  sent  by  Heather  Jock,  decided  the  fate  of  Master  Kit 
more  sharply  than  might  otherwise  have  been  the  case. 

"  Dear  Mother"  (so  the  hurried  note  ran), — "  I  have  been  think- 
ing much  of  Kit.  As  you  linow,  I  dare  not  mention  his  name  here. 
My  husband  liates  him,  and  would  gladly  liave  him  out  of  the  country. 
Besides,  it  is  high  time  that  he  should  go  to  sclrool.  I  shall  be  alone 
next  Wednesday  all  day,  and  I  should  like  to  come  over  to  the  Dornal 
and  take  him  to  the  dominie  myself.  I  send  herewith  some  things 
that  I  have  made  for  him.  He  can  ])ave  his  Sunday  clothes  to  go  to 
school  in,  and  afterwards  we  shall  manage  about  getting  him  some 
others  for  the  kirk.    .  Your  Lilias." 


70  KIT    KENNEDY 

It  was  a  simple  letter,  but  with  pitifulness  under  it  deep 
as  the  sea.  That  which  Lilias  Armour  had  obtained  of 
the  happiness  of  earth  was  so  much  less  than  she  had  ex- 
pected, or  indeed  deserved,  that  her  every  word  was  like  a 
poem.  Love  and  life  had  gone  so  pitifully  wrong  with  her 
tliat  baldness  of  language  only  threw  into  relief  the  bitter 
tragedy  of  the  fact. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    SPIIIG    OF   HEATHER 

Now  Kit  Kennedy  had  never  been  at  school  before, 
though  his  age  was  eight  years  all  told.  Never  had  the 
leathern  "  taws  "  of  reproof  tickled  his  palm,  nor  yet  had 
instruction's  warning  voice  disturbed  his  hours  of  play. 
True  it  was  Kit  had  always  been  able  to  read.  How  he 
learned  he  could  not  have  told  you.  Ever  since  he  could 
remember  he  had  made  A's  and  B's  in  the  thick,  Avhite 
mealy  dust  of  the  bakeboard  where  his  grandmother  was 
rolling  out  the  ''  farles  "  of  cake,  presently  to  be  erected, 
crisped  and  curved  into  toothsomeness,  by  the  side  of  the 
fire. 

At  all  events  he  had  certainly  learned  to  read,  and  his 
first  book,  as  we  know,  was  The  Traditions  of  the  Covenant- 
ers, his  second  TJie  Pilgriins  Progress.  Kit  Kennedy  had 
not  yet  read  Paradise  Lost.  But  even  thus  early  he  dis- 
covered the  capacities  of  the  devil  as  a  hero,  and  his  fa- 
vorite character  in  Bunyan's  book  was  Apollyon.  So  pres- 
ently it  was  no  wonder  that  he  frightened  the  byre  lass 
into  fits  by  stripping  himself  naked,  staining  his  body  red 
with  "keel,"  and  picking  out  his  ribs  with  sheep  tar — a 
grisly  spectacle  to  leap  out  of  a  hedge  in  the  gray  of  a 
September  gloaming. 

Indeed,  it  was  this  prank,  taken  in  connection  with  sev- 
eral others  still  more  daringly  imaginative,  which  at  last 
caused  Kit  to  be  sent  to  school,  where  (as  his  uncles  point- 
ed out  to  him  with  unnecessary  detail  and  a  savory  sense 


72  KIT    KENNEDY 

of  enjoyment  which  Kit  felt  to  be  little  less  than  infernal) 
such  pleasant  and  merry  pranks  as  that  of  the  byre  lass 
would  be  rewarded  with  stripes  of  quite  another  color. 

For  old  Dominie  Duncanson  had  no  sense  of  any  humor 
save  his  own — a  humor  of  which  every  one  of  his  puj)ils 
frequently  felt  the  point. 

His  mode  of  repartee  was  always  considered  to  be  most 
pungent  and  convincing  upon  cold  frosty  mornings,  when 
the  finger-tips  were  blue  with  cold,  and  the  application  of 
the  'Haws"  felt  like  handling  so  many  red-hot  nails  in 
Hutcheon's  smithy  down  by  the  old  village  well. 

Nevertheless  to  school  Kit  Kennedy  was  bound  to  go. 
So  he  went,  as  most  of  us  go  to  the  dentist,  because  he 
had  no  choice. 

Ilis  mother  was  going  over  the  hill  with  her  boy  in  order 
to  put  him  into  the  care  of  Titty  Cameron,  a  buxom  and 
self-possessed  young  lady  of  ten,  who  had  to  tramp  all 
the  way  to  Whinnyliggate  school  five  days  out  of  every 
week.  But  his  mother  did  not  tell  Kit  this.  For  if  he 
had  so  much  as  suspected  that  his  Avell-grown  manhood 
was  to  be  put  into  the  care  of  any  "lassie,"  Kit  would 
promptly  have  made  a  bee-line  for  the  fastnesses  of  the 
Hazel  Banks.  And  from  these  it  would  have  taken  a  long 
summer's  day  to  dislodge  him,  and  even  then  only  hunger 
or  the  absence  of  ripe  nuts  would  have  driven  him  forth. 

So  his  mother  was  compelled  to  resort  to  guile,  and  that 
bribery  which  appeals  to  the  sweet  universal  tooth  of  child- 
hood. 

"  Kit,"  she  said,  soon  after  she  arrived  from  Kirkoswald, 
*'  I'm  gaun  over  the  hill  to  Whinnyliggate.  I'll  be  lonely 
and  it's  a  lang  road.  I'll  hae  to  tak'  a  big  sugar  piece  wi' 
me." 

"  Will  ye  so,  mither  ?"  said  the  bo)'',  coming  closer  to 
her.  Then  in  a  wheedling,  coaxing  tone  he  added,  "Will 
ye  let  me  look  at  the  piece  ?" 

Whereupon  his  mother,  with  great  circumspection,  drew 


THE    SPRIG    OF    HEATHER  73 

from  her  black  reticule  basket  two  noble  "  whangs "  of 
baker's  bread,  thick  with  butter,  the  brown  sugar  dusted 
upon  the  top  like  silver  sand  on  a  mower's  sharpening 
strake.  And  at  the  sight  Kit's  teeth  watered  so  that  he  had 
to  swallow  steadily  to  keep  the  cistern  from  running  over. 

"  Preserve  us,  mither !"'  he  cried,  enraptured,  "  Fll  come. 
Man,  that  sugar's  fair  enticin' !" 

So  presently  mother  and  son  were  to  be  seen  wending 
their  way  over  the  heathery  wilderness  of  crag  and  moor 
which  lay  about  the  farm  of  Dornal.  Kit's  mother's  face 
was  full  of  a  great  still  sweetness  like  that  of  a  woman  who 
had  indeed  won  her  Avay  to  an  isle  of  rest,  but  through  an 
ocean  of  pain.  And  the  washing  of  the  waves  of  sorrow 
had  swept  that  countenance  clean  of  self.  Her  cheeks 
were  softly  pale,  and  she  stooped  a  little  when  she  walked 
as  if  she  were  bearing  an  unseen  burden.  But  she  was  still 
young,  and  her  eyes  remained  as  frankly  and  winsomely 
blue  as  when  no  such  lass  as  Lilias  Armour  stepped  de- 
murely into  the  Kirk-on-the-Hill  five  minutes  before  the 
service  began. 

Kit  Kennedy  admired  his  mother  above  anything  on 
earth — and  loved  her  too,  almost  as  much  as  his  red  dog 
Trusty.  So  they  went  out  over  the  heather,  only  they  two 
together.  Lilias  stepped  sedately  and  stilly  along  the  rude 
moorland  track,  her  head  a  little  bent,  her  eyes  but  vague- 
ly taking  in  the  purple  of  the  hillsides  and  the  misty  blue 
of  the  valley  lakes. 

And  as  she  looked  a  sob  rose  in  her  throat,  like  water  in 
a  well  which  communicates  with  some  great  subterranean 
reservoir. 

"  Oh,  it's  bonny,  bonny,"  she  murmured  to  herself. 
''It's  far  ower  bonny  for  the  like  of  me  to  see." 

Kit  Kennedy  gambolled  about  over  the  moor,  looking  for 
belated  birds'  nests,  pulling  "  hardheads  "  and  chance  bits 
of  white  heather.  Presently  he  brought  a  sprig  of  the 
latter  to  his  mother. 


74  KIT    KENNEDY 

"Ilae,  mither !"  he  said,  carelessly,  ''see  what  Kit  has 
gotten  for  ye.  Set  it  in  your  frock  there  below  the  neck, 
as  the  lasses  do  at  the  Kirk  on  Sabbaths." 

Lilias  had  been  thinking  deep  within  her  bosom  of  things 
and  days  that  it  hurt  to  remember,  when  the  boy's  words 
called  her  back  to  herself.  The  sprig  of  white  heather  lay 
in  her  palm,  and  she  raised  it  towards  her  eyes  in  the  un- 
certain manner  common  to  the  short-sighted  and  the 
absent-minded.  I  think  she  supposed  it  to  be  a  bit  of 
sweet-scented  southernwood,  which  Kit  had  brought  with 
him  from  the  garden. 

But  so  soon  as  she  saw  what  it  was  that  her  fingers  held, 
she  cast  the  sj)rig  of  white  heather  from  her  on  the  path 
and  stamped  upon  it,  grinding  it  into  the  black  peaty  soil 
with  the  heel  of  her  small,  strongly  made  shoe. 

"What  mean  ye  by  the  like  o'  that,  laddie  ?"  she  cried, 
catching  at  her  breast  as  if  she  felt  a  sudden  spasm  of  pain 
there.    "  How  dare  ye  ?" 

Then  she  saw  the  wonder  leap  into  the  boy's  face  and 
the  color  ebb  from  his  lips.  For  Kit  had  never  seen  his 
mother  moved  to  anger  before. 

"Wi',  mither,"  he  faltered,  "it's  nocht  but  a  sprig  of 
white  heather  that  I  gat  ower  there  by  the  dyke -back  ! 
There's  plenty  mair.  Come  and  see  it  growing  sae 
blithely." 

But  the  water  in  the  caverns  of  the  woman's  heart  had 
now  risen  surging  up,  and  all  her  will  could  not  keep  the 
wells  in  her  blue  eyes  from  over-brimming.  She  sat  down 
on  a  tussock  of  yellow  bent-grass,  which  like  an  island  rose 
defiantly  in  the  midst  of  the  red  heather.  Then  she  put 
her  head  into  her  hands  and  sobbed  aloud  in  the  hill  si- 
lence of  that  great  blue  empty  September  day. 

Kit  was  deadly  afraid.  He  had  never  before  seen  his 
mother  thus  give  way.  Indeed,  sorrow  was  not  connected  in 
Kit's  mind  with  anything  less  concrete  than  a  hungry 
stomach,  a  tumble  from  a  tree  higher  than  those  which  he 


THE    SPRIG    OF    HEATHER  75 

usually  selected  for  the  purpose  of  falling  off — or,  at  the 
worst,  Avith  a  crack  on  the  side  of  the  head  from  the  near- 
est of  his  uncles,  when  he  was  caught  in  some  unusually 
outrageous  piece  of  mischief.  These,  as  it  seemed  to  Kit, 
were  all  provided  for  in  the  scheme  of  life.  But  that  his 
mother — who  was  too  old  to  get  a  "cuff  on  the  lug,^'  and 
too  staid  to  climb  trees  and  fall  off  them — should  cry  was 
a  dispensation  unaccountable  and  mysterious — like  those 
decrees  of  Providence  of  which  he  had  heard  in  the  Cate- 
chism.    The  matter  must  certainly  be  looked  into  at  once. 

Lilias  bent  her  head  farther  upon  her  breast  and  sobbed 
— the  sob  of  a  woman  who  tastes  the  bitterness  of  once- 
sweet  memories  which  time  and  circumstance  have  turned 
to  gall. 

"  Oh,  how  could  he  do  it  ?"  she  wailed,  half  to  herself. 

Kit  went  forward  to  his  mother, 

"  Mither,  mither,  hearken  to  me  !"  he  said,  wistfully; 
"  dinna  greet,  mither  !  Are  ye  hungry  ?  Tak'  a  bit  o'  my 
sugar  piece.  It's  in  your  black  basket  there  under  your 
hand.     And  I  would  fain  hae  a  bite  mysel'.  " 

But  his  mother  did  not  answer,  or  even  respond  in  the 
least  to  the  invitation,  which  in  Kit's  opinion  was  the  worst 
symptom  of  all.  So  with  the  fear  of  a  child  in  the  pres- 
ence of  an  unknown  sorrow,  he  clutched  at  her  arm  and 
tried  to  pull  the  hand  away  from  her  face. 

"  Minnie,"  he  cried,  using  the  pet  name  that  he  Avould 
have  sunk  into  the  earth  with  shame  rather  than  let  any 
one  else  hear  him  utter — "  Minnie,  what  ails  ye  ?  What 
garred  ye  greet?     Tell  your  ain  Kit." 

Then,  finding  that  he  could  neither  pull  away  the  hand 
nor  still  his  mother's  grief,  the  boy  gave  way  utterly.  He 
burst  into  a  howl  of  childish  suffering,  the  tears  presently 
running  down  his  face  and  dripping  freely  from  his  chin. 
"Oh,  Minnie,  Minnie,  drop  it,  stop  it !"  he  cried.  "D'ye 
hear  me  ?  Gin  ye  dinna,  by  my  faith,  I'll  greet  too.  And 
how  will  ye  like  that  ?" 


76  KIT    KENNEDY 

Lilias  stilled  her  sobs.  The  magnificent  selfishness  of 
male  childhood  braced  her.  She  reached  out  her  hand  and 
patted  the  boy  on  the  cheek  as  he  bent  towards  her. 

*'  We  mann  gang  on  to  the  schule,  and  see  the  maister," 
she  said,  rising  to  her  feet  and  lifting  her  basket.  "^If  we 
dinna  make  haste  we  will  be  ower  late." 

Kit's  spirits  rose  triumphantly. 

'*^Come  on,  Minnie,"  he  cried;  "there's  Titty  Cameron 
gangin'  by  the  black  yett  (gate)  the  noo.  We'll  no  let  a 
lassie  bairn  wi'  petticoats  flappin'  aboot  her  shanks  beat  us." 

But  as  Lilias  MacWalter  passed  on  after  the  boy,  her 
eyes  went  back  to  the  spray  of  white  heather  crushed  by 
her  own  heel  into  the  black  crumbly  peat.  She  glanced 
once  after  her  son.  He  was  in  full  career,  with  his  bon- 
net in  his  hand,  chasing  a  gay  yellow  butterfly  which  had 
come  flirting  and  prancing  along  the  path,  and,  being 
greeted  with  a  shout,  had  deflected  across  the  moor  with 
irrelevant  infirmity  of  purpose. 

The  woman  hastily  stooped  and  took  up  the  tattered 
spray  of  white  heather  in  her  hand.  With  her  eye  on  Kit 
she  dusted  it  tenderly  and  placed  it  in  her  basket.  Then, 
apparently  recollecting  that  Kit  would  before  long  explore 
the  basket  for  the  "sugar  piece,"  she  furtively  withdrew 
the  sprig  again,  and  unbuttoning  the  top  fastenings  of  her 
faded  black  merino  bodice  she  thrust  the  battered  and 
broken  twigs  Avithin,  and  refastened  the  buttons  with  fin- 
gers that  trembled  with  eager  haste.  Then  she  looked 
again  at  the  distant  figure  of  her  boy  as  he  leaped  high 
into  the  air  in  his  eagerness  to  prevent  the  butterfly  from 
escaping  him.  Lilias  sighed,  and  a  sweet  half  -  satisfied 
look  rose  in  her  eyes.  Something  like  a  smile  passed  over 
her  features.  She  went  demurely  over  the  heather  with 
her  eyes  once  more  on  the  vague  blurred  blue,  which  was 
all  she  saw  of  the  sparkling  lake  beneath.  Her  shoulders 
were  still  a  little  bent,  but  the  burden  seemed  to  be  partly 
lifted  from  them. 


THE    SPRIG    OF    HEATHER  77 

Presently  Kit  and  his  mother  overtook  Titty  Cameron. 
That  young  lady  was  nothing  loath  to  accept  their  com- 
pany. She  would  indeed  have  preferred  to  travel  with 
Kit  alone.  But  even  with  the  escort  of  the  swain's  moth- 
er, much  may  be  done.  Friendship  of  the  most  intimate 
kind  was  soon  established  between  Kit  and  Titty.  The 
lady  put  out  her  tongue  at  the  gentleman,  and  the  gentle- 
man dropped  a  sharp  stone  down  the  lady's  back  when  she 
was  not  looking.  What  more  was  necessary  to  immediate 
marriage  ? 

They  also  talked  a  little  in  whispers,  and  pulled  each 
other's  hair  when  they  could,  but  the  only  time  they  were 
really  caught  was  when  Kit  said  to  Titty,  "  Stand  wide, 
and  ril  buzz  a  stano  between  your  legs."  Then  Lilias, 
whose  hearing  was  acute,  heard  the  "  buzz  "  as  the  rough- 
edged  piece  of  whinstone  took  the  hard  road  between  Titty 
Cameron's  feet  and  boomed  aAvay  at  a  new  angle. 

'''Kit,"  she  said,  turning  reproachfully,  "can  ye  no  be 
douce  and  behave  ?  Come  and  walk  by  me.  Ye  will  hurt 
the  bairn  wi'  your  stanes." 

"Mither,"  said  Kit.  "I  am  no  a  lassie.  I  just  couldna 
miss.  It  was  as  easy  a  shot  as  hittin'  a  barn  door,  and 
Tittie  can  stand  stride  legs  frae  yae  side  o'  the  road  to  the 
ither  if  she  tries,  though  she  is  but  a  lassie  in  coats  to  her 
knees." 

So  in  good  time  they  arrived  at  the  school.  Titty  going 
in  safety  under  the  escort  of  the  parent  of  a  new  scholar, 
though  she  was  nearly  one  hour  late — whole  sixty  precious 
minutes  snatched  from  the  infernal  gods. 


CHAPTER  XI 
KIT  Kennedy's  first  fight 

Dominie  Duncanson — gray,  donr,  self-opinionated,  with 
a  really  kind  heart  overlaid  with  habitual  crustiness,  and 
the  edge  of  his  sympathies  dulled  by  the  hourly  practice 
of  flagellation — came  to  the  door  with  a  book  in  one  hand 
and  the  "taws"  in  the  other.  He  seemed  to  flush  a  little 
Avhen  he  saw  his  visitors.  But  the  traditional  courtesy  due 
to  a  neophyte  brought  the  regulation  smile  to  his  face. 

"  Ye  are  welcome.  Mistress  MacWalter,"  he  said,  making 
Lilias  a  stiff  little  formal  bow,  which  affected  no  part  of  his 
frame  but  his  head  and  necktie — "ye  are  welcome  and  your 
brave  laddie.  I  trust  we  will  make  him  a  guid  scholar, 
and  that  he  will  turn  out  a  credit  to  this  seeminary  o' 
learnin'." 

Dominie  Duncanson  did  not  waste  any  time  in  supposing 
that  boys  might  possibly  be  good  by  nature.  Forty  years 
of  mingled  experience  in  the  instruction  of  the  boys  of 
Whinnyliggate  had  made  him  fully  confident  that  good- 
ness is  always  instilled  into  boys  by  vigorous  physical  exer- 
cise. He  had,  indeed,  kept  himself  all  that  time  in  excellent 
training,  and  even  now  at  sixty-five  he  was  accustomed  to 
say  that  though  in  his  best  days  he  could  perhaps  have  kept 
on  longer — indeed,  till  the  whole  boydom  of  Whinnyliggate 
was  reluctant  to  sit  down — yet  it  was  only  recently  that  he 
had  compassed  the  secret  of  how  to  make  one  "j^^^mie" 
do  the  work  of  two  ;  and  how  to  produce  a  finer  moral  result 
by  one  judicious  flick  upon  a  well-stretched  and  rotund 


KIT    KENNEDY'S    FIRST    FIGHT  79 

curvature  than  by  exertions  like  those  of  two  men  flailing 
corn  in  a  barn. 

The  ceremony  of  introduction  was  soon  over.  Kit  was 
solemnly  delivered  to  the  Dominie.  The  door  Avas  shut, 
and  the  lad  found  himself  for  the  first  time  within  the  walls 
of  a  school.  He  looked  nervously  round,  not  from  any  fear 
of  his  fellow- scholars,  but  with  the  natural  instinct  of  a 
newly  trapped  animal.  However,  upon  a  second  look  he 
was  somewhat  reassured.  He  thought  he  could  manage 
the  door  before  the  Dominie  could  catch  him,  if  he  got  any- 
thing like  a  fair  start. 

Presently  the  hum  of  the  school  droned  lower  and  lower. 
The  arithmetic  pupils  aloug  the  wall  communed  as  to  results 
in  subdued  tones.  The  writing-classes  joggled  each  others' 
arms  and  elbows  with  cautious  circumspection.  Dominie 
Duncanson  leaned  back  in  his  desk  and  bethought  him  of 
his  new  pupil. 

"  New  boy,  what's  your  name  ?"  he  said. 

"  Kit  Kennedy,  sir/'  said  Kit,  the  polite  son  of  his  father, 
rising  to  his  feet. 

The  action  instantly  aroused  the  deepest  resentment  in 
the  breast  of  every  hoy  in  Whinnyliggate  School.  They 
gazed  at  him  in  amazed  horror. 

"^'Did  ye  hear  him  ?" — the  whisper  ran  swiftly  as  ill  news 
athwart  the  school — "he  said  'Sir  !'  And  he  stood  up  to 
answer  the  maister." 

And  then  heads  were  shaken,  and  resolves  were  taken  that 

betokened  no  good  to  Kit  Kennedy.     Such  a  disgrace  had 

not  been  heard  of  in  Whinnyliggate  School   within  the 

.memory  of  boy.     Who  was  this  upstart  that  had  come  off 

the  heather  to  take  away  their  good  name  ? 

"  Come  here,  my  boy,"  said  the  master,  more  kindly  still 
— for  he  loved  gentle  breeding,  though,  indeed,  he  did  little 
to  inculcate  it  among  the  boors  of  Wliinnyliggate,  "and  let 
me  hear  what  you  can  do  in  the  Avay  of  lessons." 

Kit  marched  towards  the  master's  desk,  heedless  of  the 


80  KIT    KENNEDY 

nips  and  pinches  which  took  effect  upon  his  legs,  the  sly 
kicks  aimed  at  his  shins,  and  the  feet  thrnst  privily  out  to 
trip  him,  so  that  he  might  fall  from  his  supposed  high  place 
of  ''maister's  favorite."  A  boy  at  a  side  desk  dropped  a 
slate  with  a  great  clatter. 

"  What's  that  ?"  cried  the  Dominie,  angrily,  looking  in 
the  direction  of  the  culprit. 

"Please,  it  was  the  new  boy  that  joggled  me,"  said  the 
noisemaker,  with  a  prompt  mendacity  which  endeared  him 
to  the  whole  school — or,  at  least,  to  the  male  portion  of  it. 

The  Dominie  looked  severely  at  Kit. 

"  He  is  a  liar,"  said  Kit,  calmly,  giving  back  glance  for 
glance. 

Now,  in  Whinnyliggate,  to  call  your  enemy  a  "lee-er," 
the  ordinary  pronunciation  of  commerce,  is  less  than  noth- 
ing. But  the  assertion  that  he  is  a  "  liar"  must  be  backed 
with  your  knuckles  on  his  nose. 

"  Silence,  sir !"  cried  the  master  ;  "  let  me  not  hear  that 
word  used  in  my  school  again,  or—"  He  paused  grimly, 
and  fingered  the  taws,  Avhile  for  the  first  time  Kit  rose  in 
the  estimation  of  the  school. 

After  a  long  and  severe  gaze,  which  Kit  bore  unflinch- 
ingly, the  master  said,  "  Eead."  Kit  looked  about  for  a 
book,  and,  not  seeing  a  school-book  handy,  he  calmly  lifted 
a  pamphlet  which  had  been  laid  face  downwards  on  the 
sacred  desk  of  state  itself.  He  turned  it  deftly  in  his  hand, 
Avith  the  manner  of  one  well  accustomed  to  books,  and  be- 
gan to  read.  It  was  Macaulay's  History  of  England,  just 
then  being  published  in  a  cheap  form  and  in  monthly  num- 
bers, with  double  columns.  Kit  plunged  straight  into  the 
famous  chai^ter  on  the  state  of  England  in  1685,  while  the 
master  gaped,  and  the  school  paused  in  its  scufflings  to  lis- 
ten in  an  amazed  contempt,  which  slowly  sank  into  a  kind 
of  dull,  uncomprehending  disgust. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  page  the  master  seemed  about  to 
speak,  but  Kit,  detecting  his  intention  by  means  of  the 


KIT    KENNEDY'S    FIRST    FIGHT  81 

same  instinct  by  which  he  knew  that  the  minister  in  the 
Kirk  was  tacking  for  the  port  of  "'  Finally,  my  brethren/' 
dodged  under  the  master's  intended  command  to  stop,  and 
proceeded  to  the  end  of  the  long  jmragraph. 

"Eh,  maister,'"'  he  said,  enthusiastically,  ''but  that's 
grand  !  Will  ye  lend  me  the  buik  when  ye  hae  done  wi' 
it?'^ 

Duncan  Duncanson  absolutely  gasped.  Such  a  thing 
had  not  happened  during  all  his  forty  years  in  Whinnylig- 
gate.  A  new  boy — a  wild  colt  from  the  hills — to  read 
Macaulay  at  sight  and  ask  for  the  loan  of  the  book  when 
he  had  done !  His  first  instinct  was  to  "  whale "  the 
boy  soundly  for  "■  cheek,"  that  being  the  only  plausible  ex- 
planation of  sncli  a  phenomenal  request  coming  from  any 
boy  in  Whiunyliggate.  But  one  look  at  the  clear  eyes  and 
innocently  eager  face  of  Kit  Kennedy  convinced  the  master 
that  the  request  was  genuine.  Macaulay,  however,  was  a 
very  precious  possession.     The  Dominie  was  poor. 

Kit  saw  his  hesitation,  and  at  once  put  it  down  to  the 
true  cause.  He  had  noticed  the  same  hesitation  in  one  of 
his  uncles,  who  was  a  buyer  of  books,  on  every  occasion 
when  Peter  Siboe,  the  New  Galloway  "bookman,"  passed 
that  way,  and  Kit  asked  for  the  loan  of  his  latest  purchase. 

"I'll  no  dirty  it,"  he  exclaimed  with  earnestness,  "and 
I  tell  ye  what,  I'll  lend  you  my  Gleanings  Among  the 
Mountains." 

Dominie  Duncanson  smiled.  After  all,  he  also  had  an 
enthusiasm  for  letters,  and  had  sent  many  a  good  scholar 
out  of  that  low,  gloomy,  mud-floored  cart-shed,  miscalled 
AVhinnyliggate  Schoolhouse. 

"  You  shall  have  the  loan  of  the  book,"  he  said  ;  "  I  will 
walk  over  to  the  Dornal  with  it  myself  !" 

Kit  went  back  to  his  place  calmly  elate.  He  had  got  the 
promise  of  a  new  book  to  read — a  happiness  only  known  to 
those  who  have  been  reared  with  a  mighty  desire  for  read- 
ing and  few  opportunities  of  gratifying  it. 

6 


82  KIT    KENNEDY 

Kit  had  not  been  many  moments  at  his  place  in  the  class 
nominated  the  "  tenpenny,"  to  which  his  proficiency  in 
Macaulay  had  raised  him — a  bad  eminence,  indeed,  in  that 
it  made  him  the  mark  of  envy,  when  a  paper  appeared  on 
the  desk  before  him.  It  came  mysteriously,  droj)ping  ap- 
parently from  the  roof,  or  perhaps  materializing  itself  out 
of  the  solid  wood.  For  no  hand  laid  it  there,  nor  was  any 
forefinger  seen  to  project  it  flippingly  from  the  cover  of  a 
book  by  that  deft  universal  post  which  all  school-boys  know 
so  Avell.  The  manuscript  was  exceedingly  dirty,  and  bore 
in  large,  irregular,  straggling  pencil  capitals  the  following 
threatening  message  : 

"  SUCK    IN    WITH   THE    MAISTER  ! — WE'lL   WARM   YE 
WHEN    WE   GET   YE    OOT." 

Kit  gazed  at  the  writing,  and  recognized,  with  the  quick 
instinct  of  youth,  that  he  had  rough  times  immediately  in 
front  of  him.  But  he  was  undismayed,  for  if  he  had  any- 
thing like  fair-play  he  thought  he  could  give  at  least  as 
good  as  he  got.  But  he  was  to  walk  home  with  his  mother, 
and  he  did  not  wish  to  fight  that  day.  So  he  turned  the 
paper  and  laboriously  printed  the  words  "the  morn  "  upon 
the  reverse,  as  an  indication  of  the  date  of  the  battle. 
Then  he  despatched  the  missive  to  his  unknown  challenger 
by  the  simple  process  of  handing  the  grimy  cartel  of  de- 
fiance to  the  nearest  boy,  who  forwarded  it  round  the 
desks,  avoiding  those  occupied  by  girls,  Avho  according  to 
their  nature  would  certainly  "tell." 

At  last  came  the  welcome  noonday  interval  common  to 
all  schools,  and  known  in  Whinnyliggate  by  the  sufficiently 
descriptive  appellation  of  "  denner-time."  Kit  was  a  little 
late  in  getting  out.  The  Dominie  detained  him  to  ask  a 
few  questions  as  to  who  had  taught  him  to  read,  and  what 
books  he  had  mastered.  Kit  answered  at  random,  with  his 
eyes  hungrily  on  the  paper-covered  number  of  Macaulay 
which  told  such   wonderful  things.     At  last  he  escaped 


KIT    KENNEDY'S    FIRST    FIGHT  83 

from  the  teacher  and  ran  down  the  little  playground — 
which  was  so  steep  that  when  any  one  fell  on  it  they  never 
stopped  rolling  till  they  came  to  the  gutter  in  the  roadway 
beneath.  The  children  had  all  vanished.  So  Kit  ran 
along  under  the  tall  Lombardy  poplars  to  find  his  mother, 
who  had  promised  to  wait  his  coming  there  to  ask  him  of 
his  experiences.  But  it  chanced  that  Lilias  also  had  been 
detained. 

She  had  gone  to  a  white  house  by  the  bridge  where  lived 
one  Jane  Little,  an  old  maid  who  had  never  been  seen  ex- 
cept with  two  ringlets  at  either  side  of  her  thin  Avhite 
cheeks,  and  who  had  never  been  known  to  wear  anything 
but  a  black  "bettermous"  dress,  such  as  the  other  women- 
folk of  the  village  reserved  for  Sundays.  On  this  account 
Jane  Little  was  thought  to  be  setting  up  for  a  lady,  and 
the  parish  gossips  counted  on  their  fingers  how  often  the 
black  dress  had  been  turned. 

Kit  w^alked  quickly  up  the  village  street  looking  for  his 
mother.  However,  he  did  not  at  once  find  her.  But  at 
the  bridge-end,  where  the  great  beech-tree  stoops  with  a 
pleasant  sound  of  rustling  leaves  over  the  still  water,  close 
to  the  raised  earthen  mound  whereon  Andrew  Hutcheon, 
the  blacksmith,  welded  on  his  cart-wheels.  Kit  saw  a  crowd 
of  boys  shouting  in  that  irregular  and  cruelly  playful  way, 
which  is  the  wont  of  boys  all  the  world  over  when  they  are 
tormenting  something  that  cannot  escape  them — yet  af- 
fords them  sport  by  flying  out  in  impotent  anger  at  their 
insults. 

The  crowd  of  boys  surrounded  a  man  who  half  reclined 
and  half  stood  in  the  angle  of  the  bridge  wall.  He  was  a 
tall  man,  with  closely-cropped  hair  and  a  certain  native 
dignity  which  he  strove  hard  to  maintain  even  when  being 
baited  by  village  boys.  He  was  not  drunk,  only  stupid  and 
mazed — with,  perhaps,  some  suspicion  of  the  staple  of  the 
village  inn,  acted  upon  in  his  empty  stomach  by  the  heat 
of  the  mid-day  sun. 


84  KIT    KENNEDY 

He  balanced  himself  jndicially,  and  made  futile  rushes 
with  his  stick  at  the  closing  and  scattering  crowd  of  his 
tormentors,  ending,  tragically  enough,  however,  by  stum- 
bling and  falling  headlong  upon  the  hard  stones  of  the  cause- 
way. Then  Pete  Tanison,  the  "  ill  deil "  of  the  junior 
classes,  jumjjed  npon  him  and  proceeded  to  execute  the 
simple  double-shuffle  which  represented  dancing  to  the 
boys  of  Duncanson's  school. 

But  in  the  very  midst,  when  the  plaudits  of  his  compan- 
ions were  rising  in  pleasing  music  to  his  ear,  Pete  Tamson 
received  a  blow  on  the  cheek  from  a  hand  as  hard  as  a 
mason's  mallet,  a  blow  which  knocked  him  off  the  body  of 
the  tramp,  and  sent  him  staggering  half-a-dozen  yards 
away  in  dazed  astonishment. 

"  A  fecht  !  A  fecht !  The  New  Boy  and  Pete  Tamson  ! 
Make  a  ring  !"  shouted  the  knowing.  So  in  a  trice  a  ring 
was  made  and  the  combatants  were  stripped  for  the  fray. 
The  man  with  the  hollow  face  and  closely-cropped  hair, 
the  original  cause  of  the  disagreement,  was  instantly  for- 
gotten. He  struggled  indeed  to  his  feet,  and  balanced 
himself  in  the  corner  of  the  wall  where  he  had  stood 
at  first.  He  pointed  unsteadily  to  the  combatants,  and 
delivered  himself  of  moral  remarks  npon  the  future  ca- 
reer of  those  who  would  fight  with  their  fellow- creat- 
ures. 

"Boys,"  he  said,  severely,  "  shake  hands  and  be  friendly. 
I  am  willing  to  be  friendly.     Boys  will  be  boys,  but  it  is  a 
sin   to   fight.      I   have  always   inculcated   this   principle, 
though,  alas  !  I  myself  have  not  always  followed  my  own  ; 
advice.     Shun  the  wine-cup,  lads — " 

"  Shut  up,  they  are  beginning  !"  cried  Nathan  Girmory, 
the  biggest  boy  in  the  school,  who  attended  all  fights  to 
see  fair  and  official  play. 

Kit  and  his  enemy  were  not  equally  matched,  for  Pete 
Tamson  was  at  least  a  head  taller.  But  Kit  was  Aviry  and 
active  as  his  own  pet  goat,  and  Pete's  first  blow  produced 


KIT    KENNEDY'S    FIRST    FIGHT  85 

no  effect.     Kit  flickered  aside  like  a  sunbeam  dancing  on 
tlie  pebbles  in  clear  running  water. 

Pete  Avas  furious. 

"  That's  no  fair  I  Stand  still  !"  he  cried,  as  he  made  an- 
other terrible  rush. 

'^AyC;,  stand  still  !"  cried  the  scliool.  ''How  can  he  hit 
3^e  if  ye  dance  aboot  like  that  ?" 

Kit  was  so  astonished  at  the  request  that  he  did  stand 
still,  and  Pete's  fist  met  him  in  the  eye  with  a  sudden  sharp 
and  most  surprising  pain.  In  a  moment  Kit  forgot  every- 
thing. He  heard  not  the  shouts  of  the  school  calling  on 
Pete  Tamson  to  go  in  and  "finish  the  muirland  brat."  He 
did  not  hear  the  warning  voice  of  half -drunken  wisdom 
from  the  man  whose  quarrel  he  had  taken  upon  himself. 
A  thin  red  whirling  vapor  seemed  to  smoke  before  his  eyes, 
and  he  saw  the  face  of  his  enemy  through  it,  flushed  with 
triumph.  Anger  boiled  black  in  his  heart.  He  cared  for 
only  one  thing  in  the  world — to  kill  Pete  Tamson,  and  to 
kill  him  quick.  He  had  never  seen  boys  fighting.  He  had 
had  his  only  lesson  in  the  art  from  the  collies,  which  growl- 
ingly  arched  their  backs,  and  gripped  and  tore  at  any  un- 
fortunate visiting  stranger  "tyke"  that  might  chance  to 
come  up  the  Dornal  loaning ;  while  his  sole  idea  of  boxing 
had  been  obtained  from  Black  Billy  his  goat,  as  he  assisted 
a  tramp  across  the  green  quadrangle  of  the  farm-yard. 

So  not  only  Pete  Tamson,  but  the  whole  of  Whinny- 
liggate  School  was  astonished  by  tlie  fury  of  Kit's  assault. 
Like  a  wild-cat  he  seemed  to  spring  bodily  into  the  air,  and 
to  strike  his  opponent  with  his  head,  his  hands,  and  his 
feet  all  at  once.  Pete  was  instantly  overborne  to  the  earth, 
and  Kit  had  his  fingers  on  his  enemy's  throat  and  his  teeth 
in  his  arm  before  the  shouting  throng  realized  what  had 
happened.  And  if  there  had  been  none  to  loosen  that 
grip  it  might  have  fared  very  ill  indeed  with  Pete.  But 
with  one  united  yell  the  scliool  pulled  Kit  off — kicking,  bit- 
ing, and  scratching  at  every  one  who  came  within  his  reach. 


86  KIT    KENNEDY 

They  pnnclied  him  "for  a  '' tearing  teegnr."  They  cuffed 
him  for  a  ''young  savage."  They  pulled  him  hither  and 
thither,  while  Pete  lay  on  the  ground  and  howled  that  he 
was  killed.  But  Kit  was  wholly  unconscious  of  the  blows 
that  hailed  upon  him.  His  whole  soul  was  taken  up  with 
the  problem  of  how  to  get  at  Pete  again. 

But  so  far  as  he  was  concerned  Pete  desired  no  more 
getting  at.  As  soon  as  he  saw  that  the  instinct  of  sport 
in  the  minds  of  his  companions  would  quickly  overmaster 
any  considerations  of  fair -play,  and  that  Kit  was  with- 
in measurable  distance  of  breaking  loose,  he  rose  from 
the  ground,  and  with  his  cap  in  his  hand  lie  raced  for 
home,  hoo-liooing  lustily  all  the  way  the  tale  of  how  he 
had  been  "killed  dead"  by  the  young  savage  from  the 
Black  Dornal. 

A  hand  was  laid  on  Kit's  head — an  unsteady  hand — a 
hand  with  long,  lithe  fingers,  a  gentleman's  hand  spite  of 
the  signs  of  recent  manual  labor.  It  was  the  drunken 
tramp  who  had  straightened  himself,  and  now  stood  with 
a  certain  wayward,  swaying  dignity  by  Kit's  side. 

Kit's  anger  melted  and  his  pity  came  back. 

"Can  I  help  ye?"  he  said;  "tell  me  where  you  are 
going." 

"To  the  last  refuge  of  the  unwise,"  the  man  answered, 
smiling  wistfully ;  "  the  hotel  of  the  misfortunate,  the 
sanatorium  of  those  who  have  lived  not  wisely  but  too 
well.  Set  me  on  the  way  to  the  poor-house,  and  I  will  bless 
you,  my  boy  j  but  first  I  will  shake  off  the  mud  of  this  un- 
grateful village  from  my  feet." 

Kit  surrendered  his  shoulder  to  the  man's  hand.  The 
tramp  leaned  heavily  upon  it  and  hurt  him  a  good  deal; 
but  Kit  bore  the  strain  manfully.  The  shouting  throng 
of  children  had  melted  as  quickly  as  it  had  gathered, 
some  having  gone  home  to  dinner  and  the  rest  scattered  to 
play. 

Kit  and  his  new  friend  walked  slowly  up  the  street  to- 


KIT    KENNEDY'S    FIRST    FIGHT  87 

gothcr,  the  tramp  still  holding  forth  in  a  strain  of  lofty 
moral  precept.  At  the  door  of  the  public-house  the  man 
paused,  and  Avith  solemn  voice  and  uplifted  finger  warned 
the  boy  against  the  seductions  of  bad  company. 

"For  myself/'  he  said,  "•I  must  e'en  but  once  more — 
only  this  once — enter  these  dangerous  portals  that  I  may 
obtain  a  modicum  of  fictitious  strength  to  carry  me  on  to 
my  quiet  resting-place.  But  for  you,  my  lad,  I  beseech 
you  to  take  advice,  and  never — never — " 

He  would  have  proceeded  further  with  his  somewhat 
scholastic  declamation,  but  at  that  moment  Miss  Barbara 
Heartshorn  appeared  in  the  doorway  and  motioned  him 
abruptly  away. 

'^Ye  are  no  coming  into  my  hoose  again  the  day.  Ye 
hae  gotten  mair  than  is  guid  for  ye  already.  If  ye  dinna 
gang  quietly  I'll  set  the  dogs  on  you." 

The  man  wagged  his  head  with  grave,  pathetic  resig- 
nation, and  then  nodded  to  Kit  with  a  kind  of  smile,  as  if 
he  had  expected  it. 

"  The  application  of  my  sermon  I"  he  said.  "  So  soon  as 
your  pockets  are  empty  it  is:  'Away — get  hence  —  the 
police — the  dogs  !'  Take  heed,  my  good  lad  ;  note  well  the 
end  from  the  beginning  and  be  wise." 

At  that  moment  Kit's  mother  was  seen  coming  down  the 
white  road  towards  them.  The  tramp  gazed  a  moment  at 
her,  standing  as  if  petrified,  and  then  instantly  a  wondrous 
change  passed  over  his  countenance.  His  cheeks  seemed 
to  fall  in,  his  Jaw  dropped,  he  put  his  hands  unsteadily  to 
his  head,  and  pulled  the  brim  of  his  hat  low  over  his  eyes. 
His  wrist  had  bled  in  his  fall,  and  the  action  left  a  broad 
stain  of  blood  across  his  face.  He  closed  one  eye  as  if  it 
had  suddenly  become  blind. 

"  Come  away.  Kit/'  cried  Lilias,  ''come  away  from  that 
man !" 

For  though  she  would  not  have  been  intentionally  cruel, 
the  terrible  appearance  of  the  tramp — so  helpless,  debased, 


88  KIT    KENNEDY 

forlorn — frightened  her.  She  did  not  repeat  the  one  hur- 
ried glance  she  had  given  him. 

Kit  withdrew  his  shoulder  gently  from  the  man's  reluc- 
tant clutch. 

"And  good-day  to  you;  I  maun  he  gangin' !  There's 
my  mither  cryin'  to  me  I"  said  Kit,  and  ran  off. 

The  tramp  squared  his  shoulders  and  straightened  his 
face.  He  limped  determinedly  down  the  long  leafy  Avay 
towards  the  gaunt '' Combination  "jooorhouse,  till  he  came 
to  a  burn  that  trickled  underneath  a  little  bridge.  He 
went  slowly  down  to  a  reef  of  pebbles,  and  taking  off  his 
coat  he  proceeded  to  make  a  thorough  toilet.  When  he 
had  finished  and  put  on  his  coat  again  he  gazed  at  his 
finger-tips  critically,  sighed,  washed  them  again,  and  let 
them  dry  in  the  sun.  Then  he  put  them  gently  into  an 
inner  pocket  and  drew  out  a  faded  pocket-book,  pitifully 
gray  and  frayed  at  the  edges,  where  the  cartridge-paper 
lining  showed  through.     It  bore  the  inscription  : 

Chkist R  Kenn — DY,  B.A. 

Several  of  the  letters  were  blurred  and  missing.  He 
opened  it  with  his  slim,  clean  fingers,  and  the  tears  flood- 
ed over  in  his  eyes  and  rained  down  on  the  leather. 
Tremblingly  he  took  out  a  packet,  and,  unfolding  the  pa- 
per, he  found  some  stray  fragments  of  stalk  and  grayish 
powder,  with  a  few  2Detals  of  heather  bells  still  adhering  to 
the  largest  piece.  On  the  paper  was  written  "  Given  me 
by  Lilias,"  and  an  undecipherable  date. 

"Bless  God,  she  did  not  know  me  to-day,  as  she  did  by 
the  quarry,"  muttered  the  tramj)  as  he  sat  and  gazed.  He 
lifted  the  paper  half-way  to  his  face,  as  if  to  kiss  the 
heather  ;  but  before  he  had  touched  it  he  snatched  the 
packet  away. 

"No,"  he  said,  "1  will  not — I  will  not.  A  man  of  un- 
cleaii  lips — a  man  of  unclean  lips  !" 

Then  he  restored  the  whole  with  reverend  care  to  his 


KIT    KENNEDY'S    FIRST    FIGHT  89 

pocket,  and,  regaining  the  perpendicular  with  stiff  dignity, 
he  sot  his  eyes  again  to  the  road,  and  dragged  his  feet 
down  through  the  dust  to  the  poorliouse. 

And  as  she  and  her  son  walked  homeward,  talking  al- 
most gayly,  the  hand  of  Lilias  MacWalter  was  fingering  at 
the  bosom  of  her  dress,  that  it  might  touch  the  trampled 
spray  of  white  heather,  which  she  had  placed  there  after 
grinding  it  into  the  soil  with  her  heel. 


CHAPTER    XII 

A    ROYAL    ROAD   TO    LEARNING 

Kit's  schooling,  so  far  as  the  mere  acquisition  of  the 
orthodox  amount  of  learning  was  concerned,  was  easily 
gotten.  He  had  the  natural  faculty  for  letters  which 
makes  nothing  difficult.  He  Avas  possessed  of  a  good  gen- 
eral idea  of  the  next  day's  lesson  before  tlie  otiier  scholars 
had  done  marking  the  place.  He  listened  with  wonder  to 
the  slower  rustics  at  the  age  of  seven  and  eight  still  Avrest- 
ling  with  the  alphabet.  He  never  remembered  the  time 
when  he  could  not  read  any  book  which  came  in  his  way. 
To  this  hour  he  never  knows  who  first  taught  him  to  read, 
but  one  of  his  earliest  memories  is  connected  with  stealing 
out  of  a  bottom  drawer  in  the  "ben"  room  a  copy  of  Simp- 
son's Traditions  of  the  Covenanters ;  or,  Gleanings  among 
tJie  Mountains,  and,  couched  prone  on  his  stomach,  of  read- 
ing the  small-printed  green- covered  volume  by  the  light  of 
the  fire,  spelling  out  the  most  difficult  words,  and  so  dwell- 
ing for  hours  in  an  enchanted  fairyland  of  hunted  wander- 
ers and  fierce  marauding  dragoons — actually  stealing  back 
to  his  cradle  to  dream  of  Clavers  and  Lag,  of  battles  by 
rushing  rivers  and  shootings  on  lonely  mountain-sides. 

Indeed,  Kit  remembers  how  it  was  at  this  time  still  the 
custom  that  he  should  be  put  to  sleep  in  the  middle  of  the 
day  in  the  old  cradle  which  had  rocked  his  mother,  and  his 
mother's  mother.  One  such  occasion  recurs  to  his  memory 
with  a  curious  persistence. 

It  was  a  quiet  summer  afternoon  in  tlie  fulness  of  July. 


A    ROYAL    ROAD    TO    LEARNING  91 

The  clay  was  hot.  Flics  hummed  high  up  under  the  roof, 
where  among  the  uncoiled  rafters  it  was  dusky  and  cool. 
The  house-place  seemed  very  large  and  vague  to  his  child- 
ish eyes,  because  the  windows  and  doors  were  so  brig.ht 
that  the  sight  could  not  dwell  on  them  long.  Kit  lay 
quietly  in  the  cradle,  which  had  become  so  small  for  him 
that  when  his  "  granny  "  was  not  looking  he  put  his  feet 
over  the  oval  bar  at  the  end  to  give  them  a  rest.  He  had 
the  Gleanings  among  the  Mountains  under  his  pillow, 
lie  had  been  spelling  out  the  all-fascinating  tale  of  a  boy 
who,  crawling  up  a  hill-side,  had  suddenly  come  upon  a 
fierce  chase  —  fleeing  wanderers  of  the  hills,  God's  folk 
hunted  like  the  partridge  upon  the  mountains,  the  dra- 
goons full-tilt  after  them.  He  was  crying  because  he,  too, 
had  seen  the  poor  lads  weltering  in  their  blood.  He  could 
not  sleep  for  thinking  of  them.  Very  cautiously  he  drew 
the  volume  out,  and  there,  in  the  too  brief  space  of  the 
cradle,  he  laboriously  spelled  out  the  remainder  of  the  tale, 
and  was  just  assuring  himself  of  the  ultimate  safety  of  the 
original  witness  (boggling  much  over  the  unknown  word 
"sequestered,"  a  favorite  one  with  the  fine  old-fashioned 
Seceder  minister  of  Sanquhar)  when  he  saw  a  hand  he  knew 
well  hovering  in  the  air  above  him. 

For  at  this  moment  it  chanced  that  his  grandmother, 
slippering  about  in  loose  "  hoshens  "  on  the  floor  of  cool 
blue  whinstone  flags,  must  needs  come  to  his  cradle-side  to 
make  sure  that  the  boy  was  sleeping.  Kit  tried  to  run  the 
book  secretly  back  under  his  pillow.  But  it  was  too  late. 
That  eagle  eye  fastened  upon  it.  The  firm  hand  descend- 
ed, secured  the  volume,  removed  it  to  a  place  of  safety, 
and  returned  to  investigate  the  reality  of  Kit's  slumbers. 
The  sleep  of  the  just  in  six-foot  resting  grave  was  nothing 
to  the  invincible  depth  of  his  unconsciousness.  But  that 
was  the  last  Kit  saw  of  the  Gleanings  for  many  a  day,  in 
spite  of  a  hundred  spirited  hunts,  until  one  never-to-be-for- 
gotten day  when  (the  grown-up  faction  busy  preparing  for 


92  KIT    KENNEDY 

the  Sabbatli  journey  to  the  Kirk  on  the  Hill)  Kit  ran  the 
green  octavo  to  earth  in  the  far  corner  of  a  drawer,  which 
his  grandmother  had  opened  to  take  out  the  week's  linen. 
To  slii^  the  book  under  his  pinafore  and  convey  it  and  him- 
self to  the  safe  shelter  behind  the  corn-mow  was  the  sim- 
plest of  Kit's  achievements.  To  such  a  student,  there- 
fore, the  routine  of  scholarship  in  the  village  school  of 
Whinnyliggate  presented  no  difficulties. 

Upon  the  first  day  he  had,  as  we  have  seen,  been  put  into 
the  "  Tenpenny,"  school-books  being  in  Galloway  known 
by  their  prices  as  far  as  the  "  Shillin'-book."  After  that 
came  the  "  Series  of  Lessons,"  and  that  admirable  com- 
pendium of  knowledge  and  excellent  reading,  McCulloch's 
Collection,  of  which  (and  vainly*)  I  have  long  desired  to 
possess  a  copy.  In  this  only  the  very  oldest  pupils  were 
exercised,  but  Kit  soon  found  it  worth  while  to  stay  in 
school  during  the  dinner-hour  in  order  to  spell  over  the 
lessons  in  a  purloined  copy  till  he  had  mastered  them,  care- 
fully avoiding,  however,  the  numerous  scientific  and  phil- 
osophical disquisitions. 

Duncan  Duncanson,  deposed  minister,  chanced  to  be  in 
a  good  humor  during  the  first  days  of  Kit's  pupilage  in  the 
little  school -house  of  Whinnyliggate.  No  dark  red  bar 
crossed  his  brow.  He  had  been  disposing  of  his  harvest  of 
honeycomb,  and  there  still  remained  in  the  corner  cupboard 
so  much  of  the  silver  coin  of  exchange  as  sufficed  for  three 
trips  to  the  "  Red  Lion"  every  day — "  to  change  his  breath," 
as  the  neighbors  said.  The  school-master  was  so  regular 
till  the  hoard  was  done  that  the  neighbors  looked  at  their 
clocks  as  he  passed  by  to  see  if  they  were  keeping  anywhere 
near  the  mark,  and  surmised  a  catastrophe  when  he  was  five 
minutes  late. 


*No  longer  in  vain  !  These  two  words,  appearing  in  serial  form, 
procured  me  over  three  hundred  copies,  for  whicli  I  render  thanks  to 
the  generous  donors. 


A    ROYAL    ROAD    TO    LEARNING  93 

One  of  the  first  lessons  Kit  learned  in  school  was  that  of 
''  Brave  Bobby,"  the  Newfoundland  Dog  of  educational 
fiction.  In  ten  minutes  after  the  calling  of  the  class  Kit 
had  won  his  way  to  the  top  by  dint  of  correct  spelling  and 
"trapping"  in  the  reading -lesson  —  that  is,  informing  a 
stumbling  neighbor  of  the  correct  pronunciation  of  a  word. 
But  his  crowning  achievement  came  last. 

The  master,  whose  strong  point  was  not  geography, 
which  he  looked  upon  as  a  vain  thing,  rose  to  point  out 
the  mist-veiled  island  of  Newfoundland,  Bobbie's  aborig- 
inal home.  But  finding  that  his  short-sighted  eyes  could 
not  discern  the  name,  he  was  tracing  the  coast  line  of 
America  with  the  short  pointer,  hoping  to  arrive  at  his 
desire  by  force  of  a  policy  of  exclusion,  when  Kit  broke 
in  abruptly  : 

"Eh,  man,  can  ye  no  find  it?  It's  juist  that  elkuck 
(elbow)  that  sticks  oot  there  into  the  sea  on  your  richt 
hand.     Ye're  glowering  straight  at  it,  man  !" 

And  while  the  other  pupils  of  Whinnyliggate  sat  dumb 
at  his  daring,  Master  Kit  Kennedy  went  forward  to  take 
the  pointer  from  the  master's  hand  and  finish  the  job 
himself. 

He  got  the  pointer  in  due  course,  but  it  was  across  the 
shoulders. 

"Sit  down,  sir,"  cried  the  angry  master;  "I  was  not 
looking  for  Newfoundland,  but  for  the  Gulf  Stream !" 

And  as  the  scholars  retired  they  gazed  with  awe  upon 
Kit,  and  pointed  him  out  to  chance  passers-by  as  "  the  boy 
that  had  trappit  the  maister  !" 

But  in  spite  of  the  dominie's  search  for  the  Gulf  Stream, 
he  was  so  much  impressed  by  the  boy's  general  knowledge 
that  he  immediately  removed  him  into  the  "Series"  (full 
title,  McCulloch's  Series  of  Lessons),  where  Kit  underwent 
a  most  wholesome  discipline  from  his  elders  and  betters. 

"  Gin  ye  daur  to  trap  us  that's  bigger  than  you,  we'll 
thresh  ye  like  a  sheaf  o'  corn — hear  ye  that  ?"  cried  half  a 


94  KIT    KENNEDY 

dozen  of  the  senior  pupils,  after  the  promotion  had  taken 
effect. 

"We  are  no  gaun  to  be  trappit  by  a  wean  like  you  !" 

The  command  was  punctuated  by  sundry  admonitory 
"punces"  in  the  ribs,  and  the  exhibition  of  half  a  dozen 
grimy  fists  in  immediate  proximity  to  Kit's  nose.  Then 
it  was  that  for  the  first  time  Kit  felt  the  path  of  learning 
to  be  a  thorny  one. 

But  soon  he  was  so  interested  in  the  school  games,  and 
especially  in  that  eternal  one  of  dodging  the  master  and 
learning  as  little  as  possible,  that  he  cared  no  more  about 
trapping,  and  so  escaped  many  troubles. 

As  was  the  custom  among  all  the  country  scholars,  he 
took  his  dinner  with  him  in  a  leather  bag.  For  the  most 
part  it  consisted  of  scone  and  butter  with  a  piece  of  oat- 
cake and  cheese  added  thereto.  Semi-occasionally  a  piece 
of  cold  bacon  would  be  enclosed,  and  a  tin  flask  of  new 
milk  was  always  placed  in  a  separate  compartment,  which 
beverage,  when  consumed  shortly  after  noon,  had  a  strong 
and  composite  flavor  of  tin  and  newly  tanned  leather.  But 
Kit  did  not  complain,  for  the  natural  hunger  of  healthy 
youth  furnished  as  good  sauce  as  any  cook,  however  cele- 
brated, could  have  invented. 

Kit  took  his  meals  with  a  kind  and  gentle  old  lady,  the 
wife  of  the  smith  in  the  little  house  down  the  lane  from 
the  school-house. 

Kit's  hostess  was  a  friend  and  gossiji  of  the  goodwife  of 
the  Black  Dornal.  And  she  had  a  great  and  consuming 
interest  in  Master  Kit. 

It  was  understood  the  Mistress  Hutcheon,  the  wife  of 
the  Whinnyliggate  smith,  was  to  keep  a  more  than  ma- 
ternal eye  over  the  young  man's  morals,  and  to  report  any 
transgression  at  headquarters.  Whereupon  his  grand- 
mother would  reckon  with  him  in  the  gate. 

This  arrangement  was  an  admirable  one  —  in  theory. 
But  in  practice  it  had  its  drawbacks.     For  Kit  jiossessed 


A    ROYAL    ROAD    TO    LP:ARNING  95 

one  of  those  heedless,  cheerful,  happy-go-lucky  disposi- 
tions, which  since  the  world  began  have  commended  their 
owners  to  the  hearts  of  all  women-folk.  Mistress  Hutch - 
eon,  a  thin-faced,  sweet-eyed  woman,  with  an  air  of  being 
perpetually  tired,  did  her  part,  so  far  as  personal  reproof 
went,  with  admirable  firmness.  It  was  in  the  report  stage 
that  she  failed  most  conspicuously. 

At  the  first  reading  this  was  somewhat  her  form  : 

^''Kit  Kennedy,  ye  are  a  regardless,  mischeevious  loon. 
Ye  troaned  {i.e.,  truantized)  the  schule  yesterday,  and  as 
true  as  daith  I'll  tell  your  grandmither  on  you  the  very 
first  time  she  comes  to  Whinnyliggate.  Forbye  I  hae  heard 
o'  your  ill  gangings  on  at  the  schule,  and  how  the  maister 
lickit  ye  for  cuttin'  the  taws  into  finger-lengths  and  fling- 
in'  them  up  the  ventilator.  Dinna  think  that  I'll  conceal 
your  evil  deeds.  Na,  they  shall  rise  in  judgment  against 
ye.  Your  granny  shall  hear  it  every  word,  as  sure  as  my 
name  is  Nannie  Hutcheon.  Ye  shall  sup  sorra',  ye  mis- 
leart  young  reprobate,  that  wad  bring  disgrace  on  a  God- 
fearin'  hoose,  and  especially  on  your  ain  grandfaither,  that's 
ruling  elder  in  the  Kirk!  Think  shame  o'  yoursel'.  Kit 
Kennedy !" 

This  sounded  threatening  enough,  but  Kit  knew  his  en- 
tertainer too  well  to  be  very  anxious.  For  when  at  last  his 
grandmother  did  come  into  Whinnyliggate,  riding  in  state 
in  a  red  cart,  driven  by  her  strong  son  Robert  Armour,  the 
fashion  of  the  speech  of  Mistress  Hutcheon  was  changed. 

Instead  of  cursing,  like  Balaam,  she  blessed. 

After  the  necessary  and  essential  discussions  of  the  price 
of  eggs,  the  new  tune  the  precentor  put  up  last  Sabbath  at 
the  first  diet  of  worship,  the  remarkable  and  shamelessly 
gaudy  bonnet  worn  by  Mistress  Allardyce,  the  grocer's 
young  wife  ("a  fair  peevee  wi'  pride  an'  gumflooers"),  the 
goodwife  of  the  Black  Dornal  turned  to  home  topics,  and 
instantly  a  wary  look  in  Mistress  Hutcheon's  eye  told  that 
she  was  on  her  guard. 


96  KIT    KENNEDY 

"  And  hoo's  tliat  ill  boy  o'  mine  behavin'  doon  here  at 
Whinnyliggate  ?  I  can  get  naethiug  oot  o'  him  at  nicht, 
except  that  he  won  a  dozen  and  a  half  '  stanies'  at  the  bools 
(marbles),  and  maybes  an  'alley' — but  is  he  anght  o'  aguid 
boy,  think  ye,  Mistress  ?" 

Then  the  smith's  wife  would  lift  up  her  hands  in  a  sort 
of  perfervid  ecstasy  of  admiration. 

"  Margaret  Armour,"  she  would  cry,  "  to  tell  ye  the  truth 
there  never  was  siccan  a  guid  boy  as  that  Kit  o'  yours.  I 
wad  gie  a  pound  note  (or  mair)  gin  ony  o'  my  ain  were  like 
him.  He's  juist  the  best  laddie,  clever  at  his  lessons,  an' 
quaite — indeed,  quaite  is  nae  name  for  him." 

And  "quiet"  was  indeed  no  name  for  Master  Kit  Ken- 
nedy, in  that  said  the  smith's  wife  aright.  But  to  herself 
she  added,  "I  hope  this  is  no  ta'en  doon  Up  Abune,  or  I'll 
hae  a  heap  to  answer  for !" 

"  I  am  pleased  to  hear  ye  think  sae  weel  o'  the  lad,"  said 
his  grandmother,  eying  her  gossip,  however,  to  see  if  there 
was  any  trace  of  guile  in  her  eyes.  But  the  pale,  tired  face 
of  Nannie  Hutcheon  told  nothing.  There  came  even  a  kind 
of  eager  enthusiasm  in  her  expression  when  she  spoke  of  Kit 
Kennedy. 

"  I  tell  ye,  Margit,"  she  would  say,  ''  whiles  I  think  there 
is  given  me  the  spirit  o'  prophesy,  and  the  time  Avill  come 
when  ye  will  be  prood,  prood  o'  that  laddie.  To  see  him 
sittin'  hotchin'  on  his  hunkers,  feedin'  his  dowg  wi'  bits  o' 
scone,  an'  learnin*  him  to  growl  when  he  says  'Duncan 
Duncanson,'  and  bark  when  he  says  'Kit  Kennedy' — it's 
fair  cowes  a'.  He'll  come  to  something,  that  laddie,  I'se 
warrant !" 

"He'll  come  to  the  gallows  gin  he  disna  behave  better 
than  he  does  at  hame,"  declared  his  grandmother  decisively. 
"And  his  grandfaither  spoiling  him  at  every  turn — as  weel 
as  yon,  Nannie  Hutcheon,  that  should  ken  better,  praisin' 
him  up  to  the  skies.  I  wonder  at  ye,  Nannie,  at  your  time 
o'  life !" 


A    ROYAL    ROAD    TO    LEARNING  97 

"  'Deed,  Margit  Armour,"  the  smith's  wife  would  reply, 
"ye  needna  talk.  Ye  ken  that  ye  are  juist  as  fond  o'  him 
as  ony  o'  ns,  for  your  puir  lassie's  sake  as  weel  as  the  bairn's 
ain.  And  what  maitters  a  wee  bit  wildness  ?  Faith,  I  wad 
raither  hae  him  that,  than  ane  o'  the  unco'  guid  weans  that 
are  aye  rinnin'  baain'  to  their  mithers  wi'  some  tale  o'  their 
companions.  Aye,  an''  sae  wad  ye,  for  a'  your  talk,  my 
woman!" 

This  brought  out  a  very  pertinent  question,  and  one  which 
it  needed  all  the  wit  and  readiness  of  Kit's  champion  to 
answer. 

"  The  boy  never  brings  either  bulk  or  copy  to  the  Dor- 
nal,"  said  Mistress  Armour.  "  Does  he  leave  them  wi'  you, 
and  learn  his  lessons  afore  he  starts  for  hame  ?  The  maister 
tells  me  that  he  disna  allow  ony  o'  his  scholars  to  leave  their 
bulks  in  the  schule  I" 

Previously  the  smith's  wife  had  always  thought  that  Kit 
took  his  scholastic  outfit  home  in  his  bag.  But  in  a  moment 
she  had  faced  the  sad  truth,  and  replied,  "  I  dare  say  he 
leaves  them  aboot  the  smiddy,  but  I  dinna  ken  for  certain. 
He's  great  wi'  ray  Andrew,  and  I  hear  the  twa  o'  them  aye 
speak — speakin'  about  learnin'  and  lessons  !" 

This  also  was  true.  For  every  night  Andrew  Hutcheon 
looked  up  from  the  fore-hammer,  and  said  to  the  little  boy 
who  lingered  about  the  red -belching  door  of  the  forge, 
loath  to  undertake  the  long  homeward  way  in  loneliness 
and  weariness,  "Kit,  hae  ye  learned  your  lessons  for  the 
morn  ?" 

"  No !"  Kit  would  reply,  as  cheerfully  as  if  he  had  every 
page  letter-perfect. 

"Are  ye  gaun  to  learn  them  the  morn's  mornin'  ?" 

"No,"  said  Kit  again,  with  equal  serenity. 

"Then,"  cried  Andrew  Hutcheon,  "as  sure  as  daith, 
Duncan  will  gie  ye  your  pawmies  the  morn  richt  nippily  ! 
I  hope  it  will  be  frost." 

Whereat  Kit  Kennedy  laughed  scornfully. 
1 


98  KIT    KENNEDY 

"  I  wad  like  to  see  anlcl  Duncan  layin'  a  hand  on  me. 
Faith  I  wad  set  Eoyal  on  him  !" 

Then  he  wonld  stoop  to  pat  the  great  red  collie  which 
generally  kept  vigil  outside  the  school  all  the  time  of 
lessons. 

Mistress  Hutcheon  therefore  was  quite  within  the  truth 
when  she  declared  that  she  had  heard  her  son  Andrew  and 
Kit  Kennedy  talking  about  lessons  every  night  in  the 
sniiddy,  as  she  went  and  came  for  water  to  the  well  at  the 
gable  end. 

AVhat  Kit  really  did  with  his  books  was  curious.  Yet 
when  taxed  with  the  matter  by  Mistress  Hutcheon  after 
the  departure  of  his  grandmother,  he  replied  that  they 
were  in  his  bag,  which  proved  to  be  true.  For  he  opened 
that  composite-smelling  receptacle  of  scones,  tinny  milk, 
tarry  twine,  sweetmeats,  and  dead  moles.  There  on  the 
top  lay  Kit's  school-books  duly  tied  together. 

'^Aweel,  see  that  ye  carry  them  hame  this  time,''  com- 
plained Mistress  Hutcheon  only  half  convinced,  "and  no 
hae  me  obleeged  to  threep  lees  by  the  dizzen  to  your  gran- 
ny, honest  woman.  The  Lord  forgi'e  me  for  a'  that  I  had 
to  tell  this  nicht.  But  I  think  He  will,  as  it  was  dune 
for  no  ill-setness,  but  to  keep  doon  din." 

With  hypocritical  deliberation  Kit  closed  up  his  bag, 
and  strapped  it  down  with  an  air  of  finality  which  com- 
pletely imposed  upon  his  good,  easy  hostess.  Then  he 
proceeded  along  the  road  to  a  ruined  saw-mill  which  stood 
deep  in  the  howe  of  the  narrow  Grannoch  glen.  Here  was 
an  old  mill  half  unroofed,  and  still  containing  much  of 
the  machinery  which  had  once  driven  the  whirling  blades, 
and  sent  a  little  line  of  brightness  before  the  cutting  edge 
through  the  rifting  tree  boles. 

In  one  corner,  sheltered  by  the  sole  remaining  angle  of 
the  roof,  was  a  hearthstone.  Kit  had  prized  up  one  end 
of  it,  and  in  a  space  excavated  beneath  he  stored  his  school- 
books  till  his  return  upon  the  morrow.     Then  he  filled  up 


A    ROYAL    ROAD    TO    LEARNING  99 

his  bag  with  stones  from  the  first  roadside  pile,  and  gave 
every  animate  object  on  both  sides  of  the  way  home  a  nice, 
interesting  time  dodging  them. 

Bnt  one  morning  a  sudden  burst  of  storm,  and  the  con- 
tinual decay  inherent  to  an  unsupported  roof,  brought  a 
ton  or  two  of  rafter,  slates,  and  plaster  down  on  the  stone 
which  covered  his  ill-used  books.  It  took  Kit  three  days 
to  dig  them  out — days  during  which  lie  never  went  near 
the  school,  preferring  like  most  of  the  sons  of  men  any 
amount  of  future  punishment  to  the  least  present  discom- 
fort. 

When  he  did  get  back  to  school  with  the  recovered 
books  Duncan  Duncanson  asked  where  he  had  been. 

"  I  have  been  quarrying  \"  replied  Kit,  calmly. 

Now  a  rural  school-master  is  accustomed  to  his  scholars 
being  kept  at  home  to  help  with  all  sorts  of  labor,  domestic 
and  agricultural.  But  a  boy  who  had  been  employed 
quarrying  was  new  to  him. 

"  What  were  you  quarrying  ?"  he  demanded,  sharply. 

"Books!"  said  Kit  Kennedy. 

And  was  duly  licked  for  sticking  to  a  lie.  So  thus  by  a 
side  wind  substantial  justice  was  done  in  the  end. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHEELS    WITHIN    WHEELS 

Walter  MacWalter  was  a  man  who  hid,  under  a  blunt 
and  bluff  affectation  of  rough  honesty,  the  revengeful  heart 
and  restless  suspiciousness  of  a  jealous  woman.  He  had 
married  Lilias  Armour  after  successfully  separating  her 
from  the  classical  master  of  Cairn  Edward  Academy,  mar- 
ried her  because  his  heart  had  resolved  upon  possessing  her 
from  the  first  time  he  set  eyes  on  the  girl  at  the  Kirk-on- 
the-Hill. 

But  the  possession  of  years  had  only  made  more  poignant 
his  early  disappointment.  He  had  long  known  that  never 
could  he  hope  to  reach  this  woman's  heart,  who  in  the 
trust  and  innocence  of  youth  had  bestowed  her  love  upon 
another. 

That  the  other  had  proved  unworthy,  that  he  had  been 
blotted  out  of  Lilias  Armour's  life,  had  but  increased  the 
jealousy  and  hatred  natural  to  a  rude,  bullying  man  of  secre- 
tive instincts.  It  was  an  evergrowing  offence  to  his  pride 
that  Kit  Kennedy  should  be  upon  the  same  earth  with  him. 
The  fact  of  his  own  childlessness  still  further  embittered 
Walter  MacWalter,  and  when  he  saw  the  boy  trudging  school- 
ward  with  his  bag  of  brown  leather  on  his  back  he  hated 
him  with  the  hatred  of  hell. 

He  had  to  grip  the  reins  of  his  black  horse  tightly  lest  he 
should  be  tempted  to  ride  over  his  small,  unconscious  enemy. 
And  on  one  occasion  when  his  horse  slightly  started  at  Kit 
Kennedy's  sudden  apparition  behind  a  bush  of  broom,  the 


WHEELS    WITHIN    WHEELS  101 

Laird  of  Kirkoswald  exploded  into  a  sudden  storm-break 
of  passion,  and  even  lashed  the  boy  furiously  across  the  face 
with  his  riding-whip. 

But  he  never  again  so  forgot  himself.  For  when  next 
day  he  rode  past  the  little  loaning  which  led  up  to  the  farm- 
steading  of  the  Black  Dornal,  he  found  the  Ruling  Elder 
waiting  for  him  by  the  posts  of  the  gate. 

"I  require  you,  Walter  Mac  Walter,"  said  Matthew  Ar- 
mour, with  all  his  ancient  dignity,  ''to  tell  me  the  cause  of 
your  striking  the  boy  Kit  Kennedy  with  your  whip  on  his 
way  home  from  school  yester-even." 

"  I  do  not  know  why  I  should  be  accountable  to  you  for 
this  or  anything  else,"  said  the  bull}^  "but  since  you  ask 
me  I  will  tell  you.  The  rascal  jumped  from  behind  a  bush 
and  startled  my  horse.  For  this  I  laid  my  whip  across  his 
back,  and  for  the  like  will  do  as  much  again. ^' 

"Nay,  Walter  MacWalter,"  returned  the  Elder,  "you 
do  not  speak  the  truth.  The  boy  was  seated  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree  reading  his  book.  Your  horse  coming  quickly 
along  started  of  its  own  accord.  And  you  struck  the  boy, 
not  on  the  back  as  you  say,  but  across  the  face  with  your 
whip.  Let  me  tell  you  that  for  this  you  have  to  reckon 
with  me,  Matthew  Armour,  and  with  my  three  sons." 

The  proprietor  of  Kirkoswald  laughed  harshly. 

"It  is  true,  good  sir,"  he  said,  sneeringly,  "that  I  mar- 
ried your  daughter,  but  I  did  not  marry  the  whole  Armour 
family  connection.  I  have  not  troubled  you  much  for  many 
years,  and  now  I  will  inform  you  that  it  would  be  well  for 
you  to  keep  your  nameless  brats  more  closely  at  home, 
or  a  worse  thing  than  the  lash  of  a  whip  may  befall 
them." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Elder,  calmly,  "  I  count  this  child  more 
my  own  son  than  any  that  bear  my  name,  and  I  will  call 
you  to  account  for  aught  that  may  befall  him.  And  if  you 
revenge  yourself  upon  Lilias,  my  daughter,  I  have  three  sons 
and  she  three  brothers  who  shall  not  hold  you  guiltless. 


102  KIT    KENNEDY 

Also  she  is  not  ignorant  that  her  father's  door  stands  open 
to  her  night  and  day." 

"  Some  day  yon  shall  not  crow  so  loud  on  the  rigging,  my 
venerable  father  of  the  Kirk,"  said  Walter  Mac  Walter. 
*'And  pray  do  not  forget  that  one  day,  not  so  long  ago,  I 
forgave  you  a  debt  of  some  extent,  putting  your  bond  of  six 
hundred  pounds  into  your  hand  on  the  happy  day  I  married 
your  daughter.  But  when  next  I  settle  accounts  with  you, 
my  dear  kinsman,  I  may  not  be  quite  so  lenient." 

"  I  owe  neither  you  nor  any  man  anything  !"  said  Mat- 
thew Armour. 

"  We  shall  see,  we  shall  see,"  the  bully  answered.  "And 
do  you,  who  talk  so  bravely  and  boldly  of  your  door  stand- 
ing open  to  your  daughter,  look  to  it  that  you  have  any 
door  to  shut  or  open,  except  that  which  shuts  you  out 
of  the  Black  Dornal,  or  any  roof  save  that  of  the  common 
poor-house  to  cover  your  head." 

"  If  it  be  the  Lord's  will,"  said  the  Elder,  solemnly,  "  it 
may  be  even  so.  But  the  evil  shall  not  come  because  you 
wish  it,  Walter  Mac  Walter  !" 

The  Euling  Elder  parted  without  further  word  from  his 
son-in-law,  the  former  retracing  his  steps  with  bowed  head 
and  heavy  tread  to  the  farm  of  Dornal.  The  other  took 
his  way  at  the  full  stretch  of  his  horse's  speed  to  the  house 
of  his  crony,  Eichard  Wandale,  factor  on  the  joint  estates 
of  Glenkells  and  Dornal. 

Wandale  was  a  man  of  similar  social  habits  to  the  Laird 
of  Kirkoswald,  but  less  given  to  savage  gloom  and  mad 
freaks.  Wandale  was  an  Englishman,  and  had  known  Mac- 
Walter  in  that  manufacturing  district  of  Yorkshire  where 
the  purchaser  of  Kirkoswald  was  reputed  to  have  made  his 
money.  What  their  relations  there  had  been  was  not  known 
to  any  except  themselves,  but  they  were  obviously  united 
by  some  strong  common  bond  of  interest. 

"  Hillo,  Wandale,"  cried  Walter  Mac  Walter,  so  soon  as 
he  reached  the  house  of  the  factor,  "  where  are  you  off  to  ? 


WHEELS    WITHIN    WHEELS  103 

I  want  to  see  yon.     Pnt  up  your  beast  for  a  while  and  let 
us  have  a  talk." 

The  Laird  of  Kirkoswalcl  and  liis  friend  the  factor  of 
Glenkells  had  a  long  and  very  interesting  private  conversa- 
tion, carried  on  behind  the  locked  door  of  the  business 
room.  These  were  the  concluding  sentences  of  it.  The 
pair  were  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  room.  Mr.  Wandale 
stood  with  his  hand  on  the  knob,  ushering  his  guest  out. 

"Well,"  he  was  saying,  meditatively,  "it  will  be  a  diffi- 
cult job,  I  need  not  tell  you  that.  You  know  my  lord's 
temper  and  prejudices  as  well  as  I — or  better.  But  he  is  in 
such  a  hole  that  he  will  do  anything — nearly — for  money. 
And  you  can  count  on  me  to  manage  it  for  you,  if  any  man 
can.     You  know  my  good-will." 

"■  I  know  it  is  to  your  advantage,  Wandale,"  said  Mac- 
Walter,  with  a  loud  laugh,  "and  with  Dickie  Wandale  that 
is  far  better  security  !" 

Wandale  smiled  a  wry,  stomach-ache  smile,  and  as  he 
went  a  few  steps  down  the  passage  behind  his  friend's  back, 
he  turned  upon  his  broad  shoulders  such  a  look  of  hatred 
that  it  justified  the  shrewd  insight  of  MacWalter's  last 
words. 

There  might  be  honor  among  these  two  rascals,  but  there 
was  little  love  to  lose  between  them. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A    STRIP   OF    BLUE    PAPER 

The  farm  of  Black  Dornal  was  of  the  value  of  fifty 
pounds  a  year.  On  it  the  Elder  had  been  born,  and  his 
father  before  him.  Lord  Gleukells  knew  that  the  Armours 
of  Dornal  were  by  far  the  oldest  tenants  on  the  estate,  and 
Matthew  had  ever  been  a  diligent  man  and  ready  with  his 
rent. 

But  my  lord  was  in  sad  want  of  money.  He  was  a 
widower,  and,  being  a  man  fond  of  company,  he  saw  a  good 
deal  of  that  sort  which  it  costs  the  most  to  see,  and  from 
which  there  is  the  least  return.  More  than  once  had  his 
creditors  attempted  a  compulsory  settlement  with  him,  but 
his  lawyers  had  so  far  been  able  to  persuade  them  that 
they  would  be  no  gainers  by  pushing  my  lord  through  the 
courts. 

Still,  every  pound  was  now  of  consequence  to  the  pro- 
prietor of  Glenkells,  and  he  had  a  strong  belief  in  Wandale 
as  the  man  who  could  conjure  the  largest  number  of  these 
out  of  the  rocks  and  scanty  pastures  of  his  Galloway  estate. 

To  Wandale,  for  instance,  was  intrusted  the  difficult 
task  of  selling  wood  quietly,  and  selecting  trees  which 
could  be  cut  and  conveyed  away  without  attracting  any 
great  attention. 

"Wandale,  mark  a  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  timber," 
would  be  an  order  twice  or  thrice  repeated  in  the  course 
of  a  year.  And  it  was  obvious  that  on  such  an  encumbered 
property  this  could  not  go  on  forever. 


A    STRIP    OF    BLUE    PAPER  105 

My  lord  came  but  seldom  to  the  country-side,  content- 
ing himself  with  writing  a  long  letter  to  Wandale  once 
or  twice  a  month,  or,  in  case  of  emergency,  summoning 
him  forthwith  up  to  London  to  give  an  account  of  his 
stewardship. 

There  was  nothing  of  the  bold  rascal  about  Dicky  "Wan- 
dale.  He  trembled  in  his  lowest  shoe-leather  each  time 
he  appeared  before  liis  passionate  master.  In  his  anger 
G-lenkells  would  sometimes  shake  his  steward  as  a  terrier 
shakes  a  rat.  He  had  even  been  known  to  kick  him  com- 
pletely round  the  house,  ending  by  throwing  him  neck 
and  crop  into  the  Kells  water  before  an  entire  house  party. 
But  Wandale,  completely  satisfied  with  his  own  position, 
took  these  ebullitions  merely  as  troubles  incident  to  the 
pleasant  factorship  of  Dornal  and  Glenkells.  After  all, 
he  did  what  he  pleased  nine  times  out  of  ten,  and  Mr. 
Richard  Wandale  emphatically  preferred  the  substance  to 
the  shadow. 

Lord  Glenkells  was  a  sinful  and  a  passionate  but  not 
a  bad  man.  His  infirmity,  whatever  it  might  be,  came 
quickly  upon  him  and  departed  as  swiftly.  It  chanced 
that  on  one  of  his  visits  to  the  great  house  among  the 
pines  my  lord  was  in  the  park  on  a  summer's  day.  He 
walked  with  his  hands  behind  him  on  the  shady  side  of  a 
tall  hedge  of  yew.  On  the  other  a  young  under-gardener 
was  talking  to  one  of  the  maids,  who  on  her  part  had  been 
on  an  errand  to  the  village.  I  know  not  if  matters  of  old 
acquaintance  or  springing  affection  detained  them  over- 
long  in  oblivious  converse.  But  the  sight  of  the  pair  of 
them  wasting  his  lordship's  time  (and  perhaps  also  the  fact 
that  for  the  moment  he  himself  lacked  any  one  to  waste 
his  own  with)  so  wrought  upon  Lord  Glenkells  that  he 
grasped  his  walking-stick  fiercely,  and  ran  out  upon  the 
embryo  lovers. 

He  struck  fiercely  at  the  young  man  with  his  cane,  curs- 
ing him  for  a  lazy  good-for-nothing.     The  girl  screamed 


106  KIT    KENNEDY 

and  ran  towards  the  house.  Bnt  it  chanced  that  in  the 
assaulted  youth  my  lord  had  lit  upon  one  who  was  his 
equal  in  passionateness,  and  very  much  his  superior  in 
youth  and  strength.  The  assaulted  not  only  stood  his 
ground^  provoked  by  being  thus  put  to  shame  before  the 
maid  of  his  fancy,  but,  wresting  the  stick  from  his  as- 
sailant, he  laid  it  about  his  lordly  back  and  legs  with  zeal 
and  efficiency. 

Then,  breaking  the  weapon  across  his  knee,  and  leaving 
Lord  Glenkells  raging  on  the  ground  with  pain  and  inartic- 
ulate anger,  the  youth  walked  back  to  his  bothy  to  pack 
his  box  and  set  it  ready  to  be  called  for  by  the  common  car- 
rier. Then  he  went  over  to  the  house  of  the  head-gardener 
to  tell  him  what  he  had  done  and  to  say  farewell.  While 
his  chief  was  holding  up  his  hands  and  exclaiming,  there 
came  a  messenger  all  breathless  from  the  great  house  with 
an  order  that  the  head-gardener  was  to  go  up  at  once  to  speak 
to  his  lordship. 

The  youth  who  had  wrought  the  deed  looked  pitifully  at 
his  friend,  for  his  anger  had  died  out  quickly  within  him. 

"  This  will  be  a  court  job,"  he  said,  "  and  I  was  never  in 
jail  in  my  life  before  !" 

"  Gang  doon  to  the  porter-lodge  and  wait  till  I  come  till 
ye,"  said  his  more  experienced  chief  ;  "I'll  bring  ye  word 
what  says  my  lord  !" 

The  youth  waited  trembling  at  the  appointed  place.  At 
last  the  head-gardener  approached,  shaking  his  head. 

"Is  he  like  to  dee  ?  Are  there  ony  banes  broken  ?"  cried 
the  assailant  before  his  friend  came  near. 

"No,"  answered  the  gardener.  "His  lordship  says  that 
here  is  a  pound  for  you.  But  I  am  to  give  you  a  good  talk- 
ing to,  for  you  are  a  somewhat  over-hasty  young  man.  So 
pit  the  note  in  your  pooch  and  back  to  your  work  with  you 
before  his  lordship  comes  oot  for  his  afternoon  walk." 

The  youth  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  my  Lord  Glenkells 
never  made  the  least  further  allusion  to  the  matter. 


A    STRIP    OF    BLUE    PAPER  107 

It  will  be  understood  that,  with  such  a  temperament,  con- 
tinued suggestion  working  upon  the  necessities  of  an  indi- 
gent and  extravagant  man  could  accomplish  much. 

"  Well,  Wandale,"  cried  my  lord,  looking  up  from  where 
he  lay  in  an  easy  -  chair  with  his  swathed  feet  tenderly 
posited  upon  another,  "what  can  you  do  for  me  ?  I  want 
money  devilishly,  Wandale.  These  women — they  are  always 
crying  for  something,  and  the  less  you  have  to  give  them 
the  more  they  want.  I  wish  to  high  heaven  I  had  never 
seen  one  of  them.     Can  you  let  me  have  that  thousand  ?" 

Wandale  shook  his  head  sadly. 

*•'  My  lord,"  he  began,  diplomatically,  "  I  have  been  all 
over  the  woods  near  and  far  with  the  head-forester,  and 
there  is  not  a  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  trees  fit  to  cut  on 
the  estate." 

"  Hark  ye,  sirrah,"  cried  his  lordship.  "  I  did  not  ask 
you  for  your  opinion  as  to  the  value  of  my  property.  I 
gave  you  my  orders." 

"  My  lord,"  answered  the  land-steward,  meekly,  "  were 
it  a  thing  even  remotely  possible  I  would  obey.  But  even 
if  we  were  to  cut  down  the  best  trees  in  the  park,  we  could 
not  raise  a  thousand  pounds  on  the  timber.  What  with  the 
last  great  storm,  wood  is  so  cheap  that  the  wood  merchants 
make  a  favor  of  taking  it  away  for  nothing  !" 

Lord  Glenkells  rubbed  his  head  thoughtfully,  ending 
upon  the  bridge  of  his  nose  with  a  rueful  air. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "I  suppose  it  must  be  the  court  this 
time.  I  can't  raise  a  single  penny  in  London,  and  I've  had 
a  dozen  letters  from  the  bank  about  my  over-draft." 

At  this  moment  Wandale  struck  in  with  the  suggestion 
he  had  been  waiting  to  make. 

"My  lord,"  he  said,  suavely,  "I  think  I  see  a  way  of 
raising  the  money.  There  is  one  of  your  smaller  detached 
farms,  which,  as  it  is  not  an  integral  part  of  the  estate,  it 
is  in  your  lordship's  power  to  sell.  I  have  an  excellent 
offer  for  it  from  a  sure  hand." 


108  KIT    KENNEDY 

"What  is  the  name  of  the  farm  ?"  said  Lord  Glenkells, 
glowering  at  his  factor,  yet  with  an  eager  look  in  his  bold 
injected  eyes  which  was  not  lost  upon  his  tempter, 

"  The  farm  of  Black  Dornal/'  said  the  land-steward,  with 
submission  ;  ''it  is  detached  from  the  rest  of  the  estate. 
It  is  of  small  extent,  rocky,  and  little  capable  of  improve- 
ment. I  have  an  offer  of  £1600,  which  is  the  best  we 
could  ever  expect  to  get  for  it." 

"  I  tell  you,  Wandale,"  cried  Lord  Glenkells,  "I  will  not 
split  the  property.  And  I  won't  have  my  old  tenants  put 
out.  The  Armours  have  been  in  the  Dornal  ever  since  I 
can  remember.  I've  often  got  my  tea  there  when  I  was  a 
boy  and  out  shooting  —  aye,  and  my  dinner,  too.  I  am 
not  going  to  have  old  Matthew  shifted  at  his  time  of  life !" 

"  There  is  no  thought  of  such  a  thing,  I  assure  you," 
said  Wandale.  "The  offerer  is  Armour's  own  son-in-law, 
the  Yorkshire  merchant,  who  bought  the  little  estate  of 
Kirkoswald,  which  came  into  the  market  half  a  dozen 
years  ago.  As  your  lordship  knows,  he  is  a  very  respecta- 
ble man.  Mac  Walter  is  naturally  anxious  to  acquire  his 
wife's  birthplace.  And  of  course  there  is  no  thought  of 
putting  the  old  folks  to  any  inconvenience,  but  quite  the 
reverse.  I  had  it  from  himself  that  he  never  intends  that 
they  shall  pay  another  half  year's  rent  so  long  as  they  live, 
if  the  sale  is  put  through.  And  your  lordship  may  remem- 
ber that  it  was  MacWalter  who  paid  off  that  bond  which 
was  in  our  hands  for  so  long — indeed,  from  the  time  when 
some  former  Armour  took  over  the  stock  in  your  father's 
time." 

His  lordship  nodded. 

"  I  remember ;  yes,  yes,  I  remember,  Wandale,"  he  said, 
as  if  considering.  "  I  hate  to  part  Avith  a  field.  But  there 
is  no  doubt  that  the  money  would  be  a  vast  convenience. 
And  that  cub  Eeginald  will  have  plenty  when  he  succeeds. 
It  is  best  that  a  young  fellow  should  be  kept  a  little  tight 
on  the  curb — in  his  youth,  at  any  rate." 


A    STRIP    OF    BLUE    PAPER  109 

^'  I  have  a  provisional  check  here,  my  lord/'  said  Wan- 
dale.  "I  met  Mr.  Mac  Walter  to-day,  and  he  was  so  anx- 
ious for  the  bargain  that  he  intrusted  me  with  half  the 
purchase-money  against  your  lordship's  mere  acknowledg- 
ment." 

"  Oh,  hang  it — but  I  say,  that  was  somewhat  cool.  The 
rascal  took  my  consent  for  granted.  See  here,  Wandale, 
I've  warned  you,  I  won't  have  my  affairs — " 

''My  lord,''  purred  the  land-steward,  very  deferentially, 
"  the  man  is  indubitably  anxious  to  buy  the  place.  It  lies 
well  to  his  own  little  property,  and  is  of  no  importance  to 
ns.  Your  lordship  knows  that  I  have  always  advocated 
the  consolidation  of  the  estate — " 

"  Tut-tut,  Wandale,  don't  prose !  Let  me  see  the  check !" 
cried  Lord  Glenkells,  stretching  out  his  hand. 

It  was  for  £800,  payable  on  sight  and  at  a  local  bank. 

"Hang  the  fellow!"  cried  he,  irritably,  shaking  the 
check  at  Wandale ;  "  where  do  these  pedlers  get  all  their 
ready  money?  They  never  spend  it  like  men.  Fancy 
being  able  to  keep  a  balance  of  £800  in  a  local  bank  !  That 
hasn't  happened  to  me  for  thirty  years,  eh,  Wandale  ?" 

"No,  my  lord!"  said  Wandale,  acquiescing,  as  he  was 
meant  to  do.  His  manner  in  unguarded  moments  was  that 
of  a  butler  in  fear  of  dismissal. 

A  queer  straggling  smile  passed  over  the  features  of  his 
master. 

"And  yet,  Wandale,  all  things  considered,  I  have  not 
had  at  all  a  bad  time  of  it.  I  may  fry  for  it  later,  but 
never  mind — for  the  present — " 

He  considered  a  moment,  the  smile  broadening. 

"  But  I  say,  Wandale,  that  fellow  MacWalter  must  be 
rather  of  a  sentimental  turn  for  a  money-grubber.  His 
wife's  birthplace — and  be  willing  to  give  good  coined 
money  for  it!  I  was  a  jolly  sight  more  glad  to  see  the 
vault  where — but,  there — I  won't  be  a  blackguard.  Well, 
Wandale,  you  had  better  see  about  the  transfer.      Make 


110  KIT    KENNEDY 

young  Hewitson,  down  in  Cairn  Edward,  do  it.  I  always 
liked  old  Dickie,  his  father — a  gentleman,  Dickie.  Under- 
stood a  gentleman's  feelings  and  requirements,  hang  me  if 
he  didn't.'"' 

He  waved  the  check  in  the  air. 

"  I'll  keep  this !"  he  cried,  bringing  his  leg  to  the  floor 
with  a  muffled  sound.  "  Whe-e-ew!"  he  whistled,  ''that 
was  a  bad  one.  But  after  all,  a  little  bit  of  blue  paj)er  like 
this  is  the  best  plaster  for  the  gout.  I'm  off  to  Paris, 
Wandale.  Urgent  business,  you  know  !  Paris  is  the  place, 
I  tell  you.  London  is  stupid,  and  I  don't  want  quite  to 
forget  my  French." 

He  was  at  the  door  as  he  spoke,  and  the  land-steward 
stood  bowing  deferentially  with  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"Expedite  the  matter,  Wandale,"  he  cried,  turning  and 
waving  the  check  once  more  ;  "  make  young  Hewitson 
hurry.  And  I  say,  Wandale,  send  me  the  fellow  to  this 
as  fast  as  you  can  !     I  need  it,  Wandale,  I  do  indeed." 

The  member  of  the  House  of  Peers  vanished.  The  door 
swung  to  on  noiseless  hinges,  and  the  factor  was  left  wink- 
ing to  himself  in  the  tall  pier-glass. 


CHAPTER   XV 


THE    sheriff's    OFFICER 


Willie  Gilroy,  sheriS's  officer  in  Cairn  Edward,  was 
a  well-known  residenter  in  that  compact  little  burgh  of 
Barony.  He  held,  perhaps^,  the  most  extraordinary  plural- 
ity of  offices  ever  filled  by  one  man.  He  was  town  officer, 
and  rang  the  mid  -  steeple  bell  at  eight  in  the  morning 
and  six  in  the  evening — except  on  Saturdays,  when  for  un- 
known reasons  he  rang  it  at  twenty  minutes  to  seven. 

He  kept  the  library  of  the  Mechanics'  Institute,  and  doled 
out  books  twice  a  week  on  a  curious  system.  When  he  did 
not  like  a  borrower  Willie  never  had  a  book  in,  no  matter  if 
the  volume  had  been  that  moment  returned,  and  lay  contig- 
uous to  the  borrower's  elbow  with  the  title  in  plain  sight. 

"  I  tell  ye  it's  no  in,"  he  would  say.  "  Gin  ye  canna  tak' 
a  plain  answer  I'll  get  the  poliss  to  pit  ye  oot  for  ob- 
structin'  the  traffic  !" 

The  borrower  was  usually  doubtful  as  to  the  powers  of 
a  sheriff's  officer,  and  at  the  least  credited  Willie  with  an 
extensive  knowledge  of  the  law.  If  he  was  wise  he  tried 
mild  courses. 

"  Weel,  ye  micht  keep  it  for  me,  and  I'll  no  forget  ye, 
Willie  !"  he  would  say. 

"  Humph !"  the  official  within  would  object,  "  there's  no 
date  to  that  bill." 

Whereupon  not  unfrequently  a  surreptitious  half-crown 
passed,  and  the  borrower  was  on  the  tariff  of  the  most, 
favored  nations  for  the  year. 


112  KIT    KENNEDY 

Willie  owned  a  large  block  of  houses  at  the  lower  end 
of  High  Street  in  Cairn  Edward,  a  somewhat  dank  and 
out-at-elbows  block,  which  apparently  began  to  fall  into 
disrepair  from  the  very  day  it  was  finished.  These  domi- 
ciles were  known  indifferently  as  Gilroy's  Buildings  or 
Willie's  Rickle  o'  Brick,  and  were  probably  the  only  houses 
in  the  town  the  rent  of  which  was  never  pressed  for.  For 
Willie  Gilroy  had  a  curious  feeling  that  it  was  not  "^sports- 
manlike" to  ''peace-warn"  his  own  tenants — perhaps  on 
the  principle  that  a  doctor  of  right  professional  feeling  will 
not  attend  his  own  wife  in  case  of  sickness. 

"■  What  for  should  I  steer  the  craiturs,"  said  Willie  ; 
"  I'm  no  needing  the  siller  the  noo.  And  if  I  was  to  be 
comin'  hame  wi'  warrants  and  warnin's  in  my  pooch,  a'  my 
tenants  wad  rin  like  rabbits  every  time  they  saw  me.  I'm 
a  puir  man,  but  I  like  to  be  neighborly.  But  I  tak'  it 
oot  o'  them — gin  they  dinna  pay  their  rents — faith,  I  make 
them  execute  their  ain  repairs  !" 

Which  was  perhaps  the  reason  why  Gilroy's  Buildings 
had  more  broken  windows,  missing  bannisters,  jagged  and 
gap-toothed  railings,  ragged  clothes'  lines  a-flutter,  twisted 
chimney-stacks  askew  on  the  sky-line  than  all  the  rest  of 
the  town  put  together. 

Willie  had  married  thrice — no,  to  be  exact,  four  times. 
Yet  there  was  no  desirable  beauty  of  person  about  him. 
He  explained  his  remarkable  success  thus  : 

''Ye  see  the  way  o't  is  this — I  gang  a  heap  aboot  the 
country  in  the  exercise  o'  my  profession.  And  like  a  doc- 
tor I  maistly  see  fowk  when  they  are  in  trouble.  Then  I 
hae  aye  had  a  sympathetic  way  o'  servin'  a  summons.  That 
tak's  weel  I  Noo,  there's  Christie  Culshangie  o'  Kirkubree 
— the  crature  sticks  the  blue  paper  under  a  man's  nose  as 
if  it  was  a  dish  o'  salts,  or  hands  it  at  his  head  like  a  pistol. 
Mony  a  time  I  wad  hae  warned  oot  thae  tenants  o'  mine — 
an  idle,  shiftless  lot — if  I  could  hae  gotten  a  man  to  do  the 
job  to  my  mind.     But  I  couldna  bide  to  see  it  made  sic  a 


THE    SHERIFF'S    OFFICER  113 

hash  o'  as  Christie  wad  mak'  o't.  And  of  coorse  I  conldna 
for  shame  do  it  mysel'.  So  the  gypsies  sit  on  and  on,  and 
think  nae  mair  o'  payin'  their  rent  than  they  do  o'  gangin' 
to  the  Kirk.  An'  faith,  it  is  maybe  as  weel,  for  I  ken  wha 
I  hae  on  my  property,  but  I  dinna  ken  wha  I  micht  get !" 

Now  it  chanced  that  a  blue  paper  had  been  put  into 
"Willie's  hand  to  serve  on  a  sad  day  of  his  life — that  of  his 
fourth  wife's  funeral — and  Willie  had  put  it  in  his  pocket 
to  be  delivered  after  the  solemn  occasion. 

"  It'll  keep  till  she's  happit !"  was  the  form  in  which  he 
put  the  case  to  his  brother,  the  well-to-do  sweep  of  the 
town. 

"  Ye  tak'  it  weel,  Willie  !"  said  Gib  Gilroy,  gazing  re- 
gretfully down  at  his  own  hand.  He  looked  as  if  he,  too, 
had  had  a  loss.     So  he  had,  for  he  had  washed. 

"Aye,  Gib,  I  do  tak'  it  weel,"  said  the  sheriffs  officer. 
"  Ye  can  use  wi'  ouythin',  Gib.  This  is  my  fourth  time, 
ye  ken  !" 

The  funeral  was  over,  and  after  eight  spadefuls  the  sex- 
ton (who  in  consideration  of  Willie's  being  a  good  and 
steady  customer  did  the  job  reasonable)  lifted  his  bonnet 
exactly  one-quarter  of  an  inch,  and  the  whole  body  of  the 
mourners  instantly  faced  about  and  began  to  discuss  the 
weather,  the  crops,  and  how  soon  Willie  would  "  tak'  an- 
ither." 

The  bereaved  and  his  brother  were  left  standing  alone  at 
the  grave-head.  James  Burt,  the  sexton,  was  filling  up 
the  last  home  of  mortality  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way, 
as  if  he  had  been  shovelling  coals  and  sick  of  the  job.  He 
grunted  resentfully  at  each  spadeful.  After  putting  him 
to  the  trouble  of  digging  a  grave,  the  "  corp  "  might  have 
been  very  well  content  without  the  superfluity  of  requiring 
to  be  covered  up  again. 

Said  Gib  Gilroy,  sweep,  to  his  brother,  the  present  chief 

mourner,  "  Willie,  were  ye  thinkin'  o'  onybody  yet  ?" 

"  How  could  I,  Gib  Gilroy,"  returned  the  afflicted  with 
8 


114  KIT    KENNEDY 

his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes,  "  I  wouder  at  ye,  and  Margit 
doon  there  no  richt  happit." 

James  Burt  unsympathetically  continued  to  clap  down 
the  mould  with  the  back  of  his  spade,  making  a  gruesome 
jarring  sound  with  the  loose  shank. 

"  It's  a  mortal  world  an'  we're  no  lang  for  it,  Willie," 
continued  his  brother,  "  but  supposin'  that  it  was  the 
morn,  what  wad  ye  say  to  Grace  MacCubbin  ?" 

"  Supposin'  it  was  the  morn,"  answered  his  brother,  with 
some  speculative  show  of  interest,  "\  wad  say  she  was  ower 
auld.     I'm  no  keepin'  an  infirmary  !" 

"Mistress  Martin  then,  Samul's  weedow  ?" 

"Kens  ower  muckle,"  said  Margit's  chief  mourner,  "she 
has  been  married  twice  hersel' !" 

"  Margit  Lonie  ?" 

"Twa  Margits  followin'  ane  after  the  ither  is  no  lucky. 
Forbye  it  wad  confuse  the  names  on  the  stane  there  !" 

"Weel,  ye  are  ill  to  fit,  Willie.  But  I  suppose  ye  hae 
had  sae  mony,  a  man  is  bound  to  be  particular.  There's 
Lang  David  Geddes's  dochter  —  I  forget  her  name  —  El- 
speth,  I'm  thinkin' !" 

"Nae  siller  !"     Elspeth's  case  was  settled  abruptly. 

The  sweep  considered  a  long  time  before  offering  an- 
other suggestion.  "I  can  think  o'  nae  mair  the  noo,"  he 
confessed,  mournfully.  "But  I'll  tak'  anitber  thocht  in 
the  Kirk  the  morn." 

"Aye,"  said  his  brother,  shaking  his  head,  "it's  a  busi- 
ness that  needs  a  poo'er  o'  thocht.  Look  ye  here,  Gib,  ye 
see  what  it  is  to  be  a  forehanded  man.  Gin  I  had  been  a 
common  ram-stam,  deevil- may -care  character  that  juist 
took  a  woman  like  a  whurl-wund,  wad  I  hae  had  as  bonny 
a  stane  as  that  to  cover  them  a',  think  ye  ?" 

He  pointed  to  the  long  and  heavy  grave-stone,  shaped 
■like  a  turnip -pit,  and  called  a  "thruch"  stone  (rhyming 
with  loch),  which  had  been  temporarily  set  out  of  the  way 
to  make  room  for  Margit  underneath  it. 


THE    SHERIFF'S    OFFICER  115 

"lHo  ?"  said  his  brotlier,  donbtfully,  feeling  that  he  must 
not  contradict  the  bereaved  on  such  a  day,  yet  not  seeing 
whither  he  was  being  led. 

"Na,  I  trow  not,"  continued  Willie  Gilroy,  swinging  his 
long  arms  excitedly  as  he  pointed  to  the  rows  and  rows  of 
inscriptions. 

"It's  bonny,  fower  o'  them  a'  in  a  row.  Gib,  d'ye  ken  I 
often  wondered  what  I  never  had  ony  bairns  for  ?  I  thocht 
that  it  was  a  Divine  dispensation.  But  the  reason  o't  is 
clear  noo.  Wonderf  u'  are  the  works  o'  a  kind  Providence  ! 
It's  juist  that  Mary  and  Susan  and  Jean  and  Margit  micht 
a'  lie  cozy  and  caigy  thegither  like  fower  pitatie-pits  weel 
covered,  wi'  nae  weans  to  dibble  in  atween  to  spoil  the 
symmetry,  as  it  were.  Forbye,  there's  the  inscription. 
It's  getting  a  wee  scant  o'  room,  as  ye  see,  Gib,  and  had 
there  been  bairns  ye  wad  hae  needed  to  say  what  ane  they 
belanged  to.  Na,  it's  juist  won'erfu'  weel  arranged  as 
it  is  !" 

"Are  ye  gann  to  pit  up  a  new  stane  to  Margit,  Willie  ?" 
said  his  brother. 

The  chief  mourner  took  a  long  look  at  the  sweep  as  if  he 
had  suddenly  taken  leave  of  his  senses. 

"It's  weel  seen  ye  are  no  yersel'  the  day,  Gib,  or  ye 
wadna  speak  like  that.  What's  the  maitter  wi'  ye  ?  It 
maun  be  because  ye  hae  ta'en  soajD  and  water  to  your  face. 
Ye  should  be  caref u',  man,  you  wi'  a  young  family  to  bring 
up.  Shocks  like  that  are  no  canny  at  your  age.  I  yince 
kenned  o'  a  man  that  washed  his  face  and  neck — and  him 
no  used  to  it  like.  And"  (here  the  sheriff's  officer  lowered 
his  voice  and  sjioke  very  slowly  and  impressively)  "that 
verra  day  a  slate  fell  aff  a  roof  and  killed  him  dead  on  the 
spot !" 

"Save  us!"  cried  Gib,  "d'ye  tell  me  sae  ?  Gin  I  had 
kenned  that  I  wad  hae  ta'en  a  thocht.  But  I  did  it  oot  o' 
respec',  Willie." 

"  I  ken,  I  ken,"  said  his  brother,  holding  out  his  hand ; 


116  KIT    KENNEDY 

''ye  never  were  forehanded,  Gib,  but  aye  ram  -  stam  and 
rideeklus  !  But  bless  ye,  Margit  there  wadua  hae  cared 
a  fardin'  gin  ye  had  corned  to  her  funeral  as  black  as  the 
pot.  But  as  I  was  sayin',  I  was  richt  thoughtfu'  and  far- 
seein'  aboot  the  'thruch'  there.  I  bocht  that  stane  in 
Mary's  lifetime  (she  was  my  first  and  a  clever,  ready-hand- 
ed woman  Mary  was) — weel,  when  she  left  me  a  lone  wee- 
dow  I  laid  it  langwise  on  Mary,  an'  mony  were  the  folk 
that  quarrelled  me  for  being  at  siccan  an  expense,  and 
Mary  and  me  only  five  years  marriet.  But  I  said  naethin', 
only  keepit  my  thochts  to  mysel'. 

'•  An'  then  when  Susan  (that  was  my  second  an'  a  ceevil 
body)  was  ta'en  away  I  made  nae  change — no,  nor  yet  for 
Jean,  though  I  was  fell  fond  o'  Jean.  For,  ye  see,  a  man 
never  kens  what  may  happen.  But  noo  that  Margit  has 
gane  the  way  we  maun  a'  gang,  Gib,  faith,  I'll  turn  the 
stane  round  aboot  and  lay  it  crosswise  abune  the  fewer. 
And  it'll  haud  them  a'  doon  /" 

Willie  looked  triumphantly  up  at  his  brother.  "  Ye  see 
what  it  is  to  be  a  forehanded  man,  Gib  !" 

Gib  saw,  and  the  brothers  went  down  the  street,  silently 
ruminating  on  the  mysteries  of  Providence,  and  especially 
on  the  benefits  of  being  a  before-handed  man. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FRATERNAL   CONSOLATION" 

At  the  cross  Willie  Gilroy  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket. 
He  gave  a  little  dramatic  start  and  said,  "  Gib,  I  am  no 
doin'  richt.  I  am  lettin'  my  natural  feeliu's  interfere  wi' 
my  bounden  duty  \" 

"  Oh,  Willie,"  said  Gib,  "  on  a  day  like  this  the  fiscal 
himsel'  wud  surely  make  allowances.  Come  on  into  the 
Commercial  and  hae  a  glass.     I'll — I'll  pay  for't." 

Willie  hesitated  a  moment,  dividing  the  swift  mind. 

"It's  kind  o'  ye,  Gib  ;  ye  mean  weel,"  he  said. 

"  It's  oot  o'  respec'  to  her  that's  gane,"  said  Gib,  with 
much  emotion,  holding  out  his  hand  to  his  brother  and 
shaking  it  solemnly,  till  all  the  people  who  were  on  the 
watch  said  to  each  other,  "  Did  ye  think  that  Willie  and 
the  sweep  had  as  muckle  feelin'  in  them  ?" 

"Come  your  ways,  Willie,  and  we'll  e'en  hae  a  glass — o' 
tippenny  ale  !"  he  added,  with  a  gasp. 

Willie  had  been  wavering,  but  upon  his  brother  con- 
descending upon  the  particular  beverage  he  hesitated  no 
longer. 

"  Na,"  he  said,  "  Gib,  it  wadna  be  decent — indeed,  hard- 
ly law-abiding.  I'm  away  wi'  a  bit  of  blue  paper  to  Mat- 
thew Armour,  the  Cameronian  elder  up  at  the  Black  Dor- 
nal.  I'll  no  be  back  till  late.  Ye  can  ring  the  six  o'clock 
bell  for  me,  gin  ye  want  to  show  your  respect  for  the  de- 
parted !" 

A  sudden  thought  seemed  to  flash  across  Gib  the  sweep. 


118  KIT    KENNEDY 

He  cracked  the  clenched  knuckles  of  his  right  hand  sud- 
denly into  the  palm  of  his  left. 

"Dod^  man/^  he  cried,  '''that  was  the  very  thing  I  was 
tryin'  to  bring  to  my  mind  when  we  were  speakin'  awhile 
since  aboot  your  prospects,  as  yin  micht  say.  It  was  Betty 
Landsborough  tliat  I  had  in  my  mind.  What  think  ye  o' 
Betty  r 

"Ower  licht -headed  and  young!"  said  his  brother. 
''And  thinks  hersel'  ower  bonny." 

His  brother  gave  the  chief  mourner  a  little  semi-festive, 
half-mourning  poke  in  the  ribs. 

"  Hoot,  Willie,  ye  are  a  guid-lookin'  chiel  eneuch  yet. 
And  ye  ken  what  lasses  are — " 

Willie  smiled. 

•''The  lass  may  be  young,  though  she'll  mend  ower  soon 
o'  that.  But  she  is  through-gaun,  clean,  strong,  and  they 
say  her  auld  faither  has  a  pickle  siller.  Ye  micht  do  waur, 
Willie." 

"Fll  cast  my  mind  ower  Betty  on  the  road  up,  Gib," 
said  the  bereaved.     "  But  I  misdoot,  I  misdoot !" 

"  What  do  ye  misdoot,  Willie  ?  Surely  no  whether  she 
wad  hae  ye  or  no  ?" 

"  Na,  it's  no  that,"  said  Willie ;  "  it's  juist  that  I  hae  my 
doots  whether  there^s  room  eneugli  on  the  'thruch'  there 
for  anither  name." 

"Hoot,  aye,  Willie,"  said  his  brother,  cheeringly,  "be- 
sides ye'll  hae  to  pit  up  a  new  upricht  ane  for  yoursel',  to 
stand  at  the  head.  That  wad  look  awfu'  tasty  wi"  a'  the  five 
lying  below,  and  your  stane  lookin'  doou  on  them.  There 
wadna  be  the  like  o'  it  in  a'  Galloway.  Fowk  wad  come 
miles  to  see  it.    It  wad  mak'  the  fortune  o'  ony  sacrament !" 

"  There's  something  in  that,  Gib,  but  it  canna  be  !" 

"  And  what  for  no,  Willie  ?" 

"It's  easy  seen  that  ye  are  a  puir  weak  vessel,  Gib,  and 
has  only  been  marriet  yince.  Ye  forget  the  Judgment 
Day,  Gib  !"  said  Willie,  solemnly. 


FRATERNAL    CONSOLATION  119 

Gib  experienced  a  sndcleu  shock.  His  mouth  fell  with 
that  quick  jerk  which  comes  to  men  when  a  grave  topic  is 
needlessly  introduced. 

"  Save  us,  Willie ;  what  need  hae  ye  to  speak  o'  the 
Judgment  Day  ?  What  in  a'  the  warld  has  that  to  do  wi' 
puttin'  up  a  standin'  stane  to  yoursel'  at  the  head  o'  your 
ain  grave  that  ye  bocht  and  paid  for  ?" 

"It  has  everything  to  do  wi'  it,  Gib!  Did  ye  never 
think  on  what  will  happen  when  the  trumpet  of  the  Angel 
Gawbriel  blaws  yon  awfu'  wakening  blast  ?" 

"Na/'  said  Gib  ;  ''it  liasna  juist  occurred  to  me." 

'' Weel,"  said  Willie,  pausing  in  the  midst  of  the  street  and 
demonstrating  a  case  upon  his  finger,  "here's  me — ye  see?" 

Gib  nodded  ;  he  saw  his  brother  as  a  grimy  thumb  which 
would  have  done  credit  to  his  own  profession  even  on  non- 
festal  and  funeral  days. 

''And  there's  yer  fower  wives — we'll  say  fower  for  the 
sake  o'  argument,  Betty  Landsborough  being  for  the 
present  oot  o'  the  reckoning,"  added  Gib,  parenthetically. 

"Exactly,"  said  Willie,  beginning  to  tell  off  the  fingers 
of  his  right  hand.  "  Weel,  there's  Mary,  and  Susie,  an' 
Jean,  and  here's  puir  Margit.  They  are  all  quaite  and 
sleeping  soond  the  noo.  But  when  they  rise,  a'  fower  o' 
them,  and  get  the  poo'er  o'  their  tongues  after  a'  that  rest, 
there'll  be  a  noise,  I'm  tellin'  ye.  I  hae  leeved  wi'  them, 
and  I  ken  !" 

The  Sheriff's  officer  recurred  to  his  thumb.  He  folded 
it  down  on  the  palm  of  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  putting 
something  out  of  the  way. 

"And  here's  Willie  Gilroy,"  he  said.  "  Mary,  and  Susan, 
and  Jean,  and  Margit  (and  Betty  Landsborough  if  she's 
spared)  can  settle  it  araang  themselves.  But  as  for  me,  I 
hae  bocht  me  a  plot  o'  grund  in  a  retired  spot  they  caa' 
Carsphairu.  And  I'm  to  be  buried  there,  wi'  a  minister 
on  ilka  side  o'  me  and  a  paper  in  my  hand  declarin'  wi' 
chapter  and  verse  on  it  oot  o'  the  Scriptur',  that  in  heaven 
there  is  neither  marriage  nor  giving  in  marriage  !" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AN   OFFER   OF   MARRIAGE 

When  employed  upon  the  business  of  the  law  Willie 
Gilroy's  customs  did  not  alter  with  the  weather  or  the  sea- 
sons. He  was  a  small  man,  with  very  long  arms  that  hung 
level  with  his  knees.  He  wore  a  battered  stovepipe  hat  as 
straight  up  and  down  as  if  it  had  been  made  with  a  gross 
of  others  in  one  tube  and  then  cut  into  lengths  to  suit  the 
wearer's  stature.  His  legs  were  out  of  proportion  to  the 
length  of  his  body,  and  he  walked  with  a  long  stretching 
stride  which  did  not  vary  either  up  or  down  hill. 

What  the  Sheriff's  officer's  meditations  were  on  the  way 
to  the  Black  Dornal  it  would  be  hard  to  tell.  Certainly 
they  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  message  that  took  him 
there,  which  was  to  serve  a  certain  legal  paper  upon  Mat- 
thew Armour. 

Kit  had  gone  to  bed  when  Willie  Gilroy  arrived.  The 
kye  were  just  leaving  the  byre  after  milking-time,  under 
the  capable  superintendence  of  Miss  Betty  Landsborough. 
Now  cows  are  dignified  and  matronly  animals.  They  do 
not  like  to  be  hurried,  and  there  is  a  sympathetic  and  an 
unsympathetic  way  of  putting  them  out  of  the  byre. 

Rob  Armour's  way  was  the  unsympathetic  —  not  so 
Betty's. 

Rob,  a  general  squire  of  dames,  always  wanted  to  get  away 
to  visit  at  the  neighboring  farmhouses.  So  he  let  the 
chains  fall  one  after  another  with  a  rattle  into  the  stalls, 
brought  down  his  hand  with  a  surprising  "flap"  upon 


AN    OFFER    OF    MARRIAGE  131 

each  cow's  flank,  and  said  in  a  loud,  stable-yard  voice, 
"  Hnp,  you  beast !"  The  motherly,  cud-chewing  matron 
so  dealt  with  turned  about  with  surprise  and  resentment 
in  her  slow-moving  heart.  She  gave  her  tail  a  flick  of  pro- 
test, and  immediately  pushed  her  horns  into  the  flank  of 
her  neighbor  in  front,  who  in  her  turn  slid  on  the  thresh- 
old, in  the  place  where  it  is  always  slippery.  Thus,  ac- 
cording to  the  methods  of  Rob  Armour,  the  black  Gallo- 
way and  flecked  Ayrshire  cows  poured  tumultuously  into 
the  Dornal  yard,  and  took  their  ways  to  the  hill  pastures 
strangely  disturbed  in  their  minds.  It  had  always  an  effect 
on  the  milk  next  morning  when  Rob  Armour  undertook 
the  putting  out  of  the  milk-givers  the  night  before. 

But  with  Betty  Landsborough  on  the  quarter-deck  how 
different  both  method  and  result ! 

She  had  milked  them  with  a  hand  light  as  a  caress. 

"  Now,  Flora,"  she  would  say,  as  it  came  to  the  turn  of 
some  placid  and  glossy  beauty — as  it  were  at  the  bovine 
climateric  of  ''fair,  fat,  and  forty" — at  any  rate  in  the 
plenitude  of  her  milk. 

Then  Flora  would  move  a  little  to  make  room  at  her  side, 
and  Betty  would  sit  down  upon  her  stool  and  lean  her  brow 
against  a  soft  flank.  There  was  no  holding  back  of  milk 
under  such  a  persuasive  hand,  which  could  humor  a  cow  as 
well  as  a  gallant,  and  yet  could  set  bounds  to  both  that 
neither  might  pass. 

Then  when  the  milking  was  done,  and  the  reaming  lug- 
gies  of  white  milk  carried  to  the  milkhouse  for  the  mistress 
of  Black  Dornal  to  deal  with  according  to  her  art,  Betty 
came  back  to  the  byre.  Every  cow — Flora,  Meg,  Blossom, 
Hettie,  Beauty,  Specklie  —  turned  her  head,  red-horned 
Ayrshire  and  black  curly-polled  Galloway  alike,  to  see  if 
it  was  Rob  Armour  or  another  who  was  to  put  them  out. 
When  it  was  ''another"  a  perfumed  sigh  of  bovine  thank- 
fulness pervaded  the  byre.  Each  cow  knew  that  the  deed 
would  be  done  sympathetically,  and  that  they  would  go 


122  KIT    KENNEDY 

forth  out  of  the  byre  and  up  into  the  croft  so  quietly  that 
(a  great  point  with  a  self-respecting  animal)  they  could 
discuss  both  their  cuds  and  their  neighbors'  morals  all  the 
way. 

"  Gently  the-n-n  I"  said  Betty,  as  each  neck-chain  fell 
into  its  place,  not  with  loud  clank,  but  with  a  faint  musical 
clinking.     "  Gently,  beauties  !" 

And  so  all  in  order,  as  if  milking  had  been  a  pleasure, 
each  Flora  and  Blossom  and  Specklie  took  her  even  way 
out  of  the  byre,  orderly  and  calm,  giving  her  head  a  little 
shake  just  to  settle  the  neck  hair,  where  the  links  of  the 
chain  had  irked  its  glossy  surface. 

Only  once  the  voice  of  Betty  Lanclsborough  rang  out 
determinedly. 

"  Gae  way  frae  there,  Eob  Armour,"  she  cried ;  "gin  the 
puir  beasts  set  their  e'en  on  you  they  will  no  gang  quietly 
to  their  pasture.  Ye  are  a  ram-stam,  overgrown,  head- 
strong bullock.     Get  awa'  wi'  you  V 

"Oh,  Betty,"  said  the  voice  of  Eob  Armour  from  the 
stables  to  which  he  had  retreated,  "^  haste  ye  wi'  the  kye 
and  I'll  walk  wi'  you  doon  to  Whinnyliggate.  I  ken  that 
ye  are  gaun  to  the  shop  there  the  uicht !" 

"  Deed,  I'll  gang  nae  sic  gait  wi'  you,  Eob  Armour  !  Tak' 
yoursel'  aff  to  the  Crae  and  get  Leezie  to  gang  wi'  you  to 
the  shop  o'  Whinnyliggate.     She's  no  particular  !" 

"Betty,  I'll  never  speak  to  Leezie  again,  gin  you  will 
come  wi'  me  the  nicht !" 

"Come  wi'  you  I  will  not,  so  gang  your  ways,  Eob 
Armour !"  answered  Betty  Landsborough  with  finality. 

Service  in  a  countryside  so  primitive  as  Whinnyliggate 
argued  nothing  of  social  inequality.  And  Betty  Lands- 
borough,  the  daughter  of  the  cooper  in  the  village,  a  man 
with  a  good  business  connection,  took  her  place  not  as 
servant  but  as  helper,  almost  as  daughter,  in  the  house  of 
Black  Dornal.  She  was  a  handsome  girl  with  dark  rippling 
hair,  a  pretty,  firm  mouth,  a  clear  complexion,  and  the  dark 


AN    OFFER    OF    MARRIAGE  123 

blue  Irish  eyes  which,  like  the  sky  reflected  in  a  hill  tarn, 
light  vip  a  plain  face  and  ennoble  a  beautifnl  one, 

Betty  took  her  way  to  the  High  Croft  behind  her  cattle, 
humming  a  heart-free  snatch  of  song  and  twirling  a  little 
slip  of  willow  in  her  hand.  She  carried  the  wand  for 
form's  sake,  she  never  laid  it  upon  one  of  the  meek  file 
of  cows  before  her,  which,  observing  precedence  as  com- 
pletely as  humans  at  a  state  reception,  had  each  their 
appointed  order  of  coming  and  going,  not  to  be  depart- 
ed from  on  pain  of  horning  and  forfeiture  of  social 
standing. 

Betty  Landsborough  put  up  the  bars,  slipping  them  into 
their  slots  with  a  little  familiar  clatter,  and  fastening  the 
cross  pin  of  each.  And  now  with  her  face  to  the  brown 
moorlands  she  stood  awhile  thoughtfully  gazing  into  the 
west,  thinking  the  sweetly  tangled  thoughts  of  a  young 
maid  before  "he"  comes  to  gather  all  the  strands  into  one, 
and  to  make  sky  and  earth,  the  night  and  the  day,  the 
flower  and  the  tree,  the  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  stars  of 
heaven  speak  only  of  'Miim,  him — "  of  what  he  will  say 
next  time,  of  what  he  said  last  time,  of  what  he  is  doing 
now,  and  in  especial  when  he  will  come  again  ! 

Barring  a  flirtation  or  two  with  lads  whose  names,  as  far 
as  her  affections  were  concerned,  were  certainly  writ  in 
water,  Betty  was  heart-whole,  untouched  by  love,  ignorant 
as  yet  of  the  breathing  of  that  divine  breath,  which  goes 
round  the  world  stirring  to  good  and  evil  after  their  kind 
the  hearts  of  men,  yet  making  either  preferable  to  the  dead 
stagnation  of  selfishness. 

As  she  stood  looking  into  the  sunset  across  the  pasture 
bars  the  lately  bereaved  Willie  Gilroy,  sheriff's  officer  and 
proven  expert  in  matrimony,  came  down  the  heather,  walk- 
ing as  it  were  in  six-leagued  boots — so  disproportionate  to 
his  size,  and  especially  to  the  sagging  and  swaying  mourn- 
ing ''weeper"  in  his  hat,  were  the  strides  with  which  he 
conquered  the  breathless  miles. 


124  KIT    KENNEDY 

"A  gnid  and  heartsome  evening  to  you,  Betty!"  said 
Willie,  cheerfully;  "ye  are  takin'  the  air?" 

Betty  turned  and  looked  at  the  little  man  with  the  large 
tolerance  which  in  moments  of  good  nature  we  may  extend 
to  a  spider — even  to  an  earwig. 

She  was  a  perfectly  healthy  and  healthily  perfect  country 
lass,  well  aware  af  being  pretty  enough  to  choose  whom  she 
would  marry,  but  who  was  not  in  any  hurry  to  finish  the 
job. 

Betty  was  completely  happy  at  the  Dornal.  She  was 
fond  of  her  mistress,  afraid  (but  not  too  much  afraid)  of 
her  master.  In  matters  of  the  heart  she  took  it  out  of  her 
master's  sons,  and  especially  out  of  Eob,  the  eldest,  and 
she  was  devoted  to  Kit  Kennedy.  She  considered  herself 
with  justice  a  fortunate  young  woman. 

"  Guid  e'en  to  you,  Mr.  Gilroy  !"  she  said,  coldly,  recog- 
nizing the  sheriff's  oflBcer.  "  I  heard  o'  your  loss  and  I'm 
vexed  for  it.  But  what  brings  ye  sae  far  frae  Cairn  Ed- 
ward at  this  time  o'  nicht  ?" 

"  Business,  business,  Betty,  nothing  less,"  said  the  little 
man  ;  ''my  work  will  not  permit  me  a  day's  rest  even  at 
this  crying  time.  The  Queen's  service  must  be  attended 
to." 

"  Aye,  it  maun  come  hard  on  you — at  your  time  o'  life  !" 
said  Betty,  who,  like  all  her  sex,  could  not  get  up  any 
sympathy  for  the  too  frequently  bereaved. 

The  sheriff's  officer,  with  the  remembrance  of  his  broth- 
er's advice  in  his  mind,  did  not  relish  the  allusion  to  his 
age. 

"  Betty,"  he  said,  "  I  hae  kenned  you  a  lang  time — " 

''Aye,"  interrupted  Betty,  "  I  hae  heard  my  mither  say 
that  ye  were  a  man  well  up  in  years  at  my  christening.  I 
dinna  mind  whether  she  said  ye  were  at  hers  as  weel  !" 

"Na,"said  Willie  Gilroy,  "I  am  no  near  your  mitlier's 
age — no  near  !" 

"Some  folk  age  quicker   than  ithers,  Maister  Gilroy," 


o 

K 
O 

(—1 

o 

O 
> 

CO 


AN    OFFER    OF    MARRIAGE  125 

said  the  girl,  with  sympathy  in  her  voice  but  mockery  in 
her  eyes,  "  and  we  a'  ken  that  ye  hae  had  your  experiences. 
Let  me  see,  was  Margit  your  fifth  or  sixth  ?" 

"Fourth  !"  cried  the  sheriff's  officer,  eagerly,  "only  my 
fourth  !" 

Betty  did  not  deign  to  answer,  but  turned  and  began  to 
walk  slowly  back  to  the  farm,  swinging  her  willow  wand 
to  and  fro  in  her  hand  daintily  as  she  did  so. 

"  Ye'll  hae  far  to  gang,"  she  said  ;  "I  wadna  be  keep- 
in'  you  !" 

"Oh,  nae  hurry,"  said  Willie,  "  nae  hurry  ava  !  I  am 
gaun  nae  farther  than  the  Black  Dornal."  He  paused  to 
give  effect  to  what  he  was  going  to  say.  "  I'm  some 
dootf  u'  that  ye  will  be  wanting  a  new  place  at  the  term, 
Betty  !" 

Betty  Landsborough  turned  upon  him  sharply, 

"  Ye  dinna  dare  to  tell  me,"  she  cried,  with  the  incon- 
sequence of  all  women  with  regard  to  the  instrument  of 
affairs  legal,  "  ye  dinna  dare  to  say  that  ye  hae  brocht  ony 
o'  your  nesty  law-papers  to  vex  my  maister,  Rob  Armour 
will  wring  your  neck  like  a  chuckle's  if  ye  hae." 

The  little  man  wagged  his  head. 

"  Neither  Rob  Armour  nor  half  a  dozen  Robs  dare  de- 
force the  messenger  o'  Her  Maijesty  the  Queen  when  in 
the  performance  o'  his  duty,"  he  said,  grandly.  "I  cannot 
help  the  errand  on  which  I  am  sent." 

"  It's  a  puir,  puir  business,"  said  Betty. 

"  Maybe,  maybe,"  the  sheriff's  officer  went  on,  with 
offended  dignity,  "  but  it's  an  honest  business.  And  yin 
that  brings  in  a  fair  share  o'  guid  siller.  Aye,  it  boils  the 
pot,  and  that  is  mair  than  all  the  stock  on  the  farm  o' 
Black  Dornal  will  do.  I  hae  a  peace-warning  to  deliver  to 
Mathy  Armour,  elder  though  he  be,  that  will  send  him 
oot  o'  this  comfortable  doonsittin'.  An'  I  hae  it  frae  a 
creditable  source  that  he's  sair  behind-hand  at  the  bank." 

Bettie    Landsborough    said   nothing.       With  a   sinking 


126  KIT    KENNEDY 

heart  she  contemjolated  the  ruin  of  that  worthy  household 
where  she  had  been  so  happy.  She  knew  well  what  ser- 
vant lasses  had  often  to  put  up  with  in  other  places,  and 
the  house  of  the  Ruling  Elder  had  been  a  haven  of  security 
and  peace  to  her. 

But  the  sheriff's  officer  had  yet  more  to  say. 

"Aye,"  he  continued,  insinuatingly,  ''ye'll  be  wantin' 
a  new  place,  Betty,  and  that  afore  lang.  Weel,  ye  ken  me. 
I'm  a  man  that  weemen  folk  has  been  partial  to  a'  my  life, 
though  I  say  it  mysel'.  Noo,  Betty,  I  speak  to  you  as  a 
freend,  do  you  think  that  ye  wad  like  to  come  an'  keep 
hoose  for  me  ?" 

Betty  turned  upon  him  a  regard  so  fixed  and  stern  that 
the  least  sensitive  man  might  have  taken  warning.  But 
Willie  Gilroy  was  completely  panoplied  in  the  armor  of 
his  own  conceit. 

"  Dinna  be  bashfu',  Betty  ;  I  ken  it's  kind  o'  overcomin' 
at  first,  but  I  assure  ye  that  I  mean  it  seriously,"  he  said, 
trying  to  subdue  a  certain  condescension. 

"  To  be  your  hoosekeeper — ye  want  7ne  to  be  your  hoose- 
keeper — and  Margit  (your  sixth)  hardly  cauld  in  her  grave  ! 
What  do  you  tak'  me  for  ?" 

Betty  finished  her  sentence  with  a  vehement  question, 
and  bent  towards  the  little  man  as  if  she  would  have  anni- 
hilated him  on  the  spot. 

But  Willie  Gilroy  was  not  warned  even  by  this.  He  ex- 
pected that  Betty  would  be  overcome. 

''  I  tak'  ye  for  a  sensible  lass,"  he  went  on,  "that  kens  a 
guid  offer  when  she  gets  it.  Faith  and  mind  I  dinna  say, 
but  if  ye  are  a  guid  lass  and  biddable,  and  your  faither  (wha 
is  weel-to-do)  does  the  richt  thing  by  ye,  I  michtna  e'en 
mak'  ye  in  time  Mistress  Gilroy.  Of  coorse  I  dinna  promise 
that,  till  we  see  hoo  ye  turn  oot.  The  offer  is  '  withoot 
prejudice,'  as  we  say  in  our  business.  But  still  I'll  no  say 
but  what  I  micht.  Ye  are  a  snod  bit  lass,  a  guid  worker 
and  no  that  ill  to  look  upon  !" 


AN    OFFER    OF    MARRIAGE  127 

The  sheriff's  officer  put  his  head  a  little  to  the  side  after 
the  manner  of  a  cock  sparrow. 

"  Eh,  what  say  ye  to  that  ?"  he  asked,  perkily.  "  That's 
a  fair  offer,  Betty,  is  it  na  ?  Ye  didna  expect  the  like  o' 
that  when  ye  left  the  onstead  o'  the  Black  Dornal  to  caa^ 
oot  the  kye.  What  say  ye  to  that — what  say  ye  to  that,  my 
bonnie  woman  ?" 

"  That!"  cried  Betty  Landsborongh,  briefly. 

And  as  the  word  left  her  mouth  a  firm  hand,  impelled  by 
a  strong  right  arm,  took  the  astonished  Willie  on  the  ear 
with  a  bang  that  cracked  like  a  pistol-shot,  and  he  staggered 
across  the  road  to  the  hedge  before  he  could  recover  him- 
self. 

'^  That's  my  answer  to  an  impident  atomy  that  onght  by 
richts  to  be  on  the  tap  o'  a  barrel-organ  wi'  a  red  jac'ket  on 
and  a  brass  plate  for  pennies  in  his  hand.  Ye  wad  ask 
Betty  Landsborough  to  be  your  ninth  or  tenth,  after  comin' 
like  a  corbie  iii  the  gloamin'  to  pyke  oot  her  master's  e'en. 
Gin  ye  dinna  want  mair  and  waur,  Willie  Gilroy,  never 
daur  to  speak  to  Betty  Landsborough  again  \" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   TAKING    OF   THE    BUIK 

"Come  your  ways  in,  sir,"  said  the  quiet,  steady  voice 
of  the  Ruling  Elder,  as  sitting  waiting  for  the  completion 
of  the  family  circle  he  observed  a  visitor  stand  at  his 
door. 

"  I  have  business  with  you,  Mr.  Armour,"  said  the  sher- 
iff's officer,  gravely,  in  his  most  professional  tone.  "I  have 
here  a  paper — " 

"It  is  the  hour  of  worship,"  returned  the  Elder;  "let 
business  wait." 

"  I  have  here  a  paper — " 

"Let  it  wait,  sir,"  said  the  Elder,  with  firmness.  **I 
bid  you  to  sit  down." 

And  the  man  sat  down  with  an  ill-enough  grace,  for  he 
was  smarting  from  the  treatment  he  had  received  from 
Betty  Landsborough. 

"Are  we  all  here  present  ?"  said  Matthew  Armour,  look- 
ing reverently  about. 

His  wife  nodded  her  head,  a  little  placid  bow  which 
rustled  the  crisp  white  linen  of  her  mutch. 

"  Then  let  us  worship  God  in  the  124th  Psalm  at  the 
fifth  verse."     And  the  Elder  read  the  psalm  of  the  night. 

Then  rang  out  like  a  battle  chant  the  noble  rugged  num- 
bers of  Old  Hundred  and  Twenty-fourth,  throbbing  over 
the  moorlands  even  as  in  days  of  the  Covenant.  With 
such  fervors  quickening  their  pulses  and  steadying  their 
souls,  Matthew  Armour's  forefathers  had  stood  in  line  at 


THE    TAKING    OF    THE    BUIK  129 

Drumclog,  or  made  ready  to  ride  into  the  smother  of  that 
last  charge  at  Ayrsmoss.  And  none  can  ever  understand 
Scotland  from  whom  these  things  are  hidden. 

"The  raging  streams, 

With  their  proud  swelling  waves, 
Had  then  our  souls 

O'erwhelmfid  in  the  deep. 
But  bless'd  be  God, 

Who  dotli  us  safely  keep, 
And  hatli  not  given 

Us  for  a  living  prey 
Unto  their  teeth 

And  bloody  cruelty." 

The  lines  were  rude,  almost  like  the  improvised  song  of 
some  Celtic  bard  stormily  triumphing  over  a  battle-field  of 
slain  enemies. 

Then  succeeded  a  gentler  strain,  in  which  the  voice  of 
Betty  Landsborough  thrilled  like  a  mavis  singing  in  the 
sj)ring-time  cojises. 

•'Even  as  a  bird 

Out  of  the  fowler's  snare 
Escapes  away. 

So  is  our  soul  set  free. 
Broke  are  our  nets 

And  thus  escaped  we. 
Tlierefore  our  help 

Is  in  the  Lord's  Great  Name, 
Who  heaven  and  earth 

By  His  great  power  did  frame." 

In  the  after  silence  followed  the  reading  of  the  word, 
the  story  of  Gideon's  night  surprise  and  victory,  and  the 
simple  and  dignified  prayer  ending  with  these  words  : 

"  And  keep  thou  the  stranger  within  these  our  gates. 
Console  and  succor  him,  bringing  good  to  Thy  cause  and 
Thy  servants  from  his  presence  and  errand.  And  to  Thee 
be  all  the  glory.     Amen  \" 

9 


130  KIT    KENNEDY 

The  family  rose,  aud  the  sheriff's  officer  with  them.  He 
did  not  now  seem  to  be  in  any  such  hurry  to  deliver  his 
missive.  He  sat  down  on  a  chair  in  a  frame  of  mind  pal- 
pably ill  at  ease. 

"And  now,  Maister  Gilroy,"  said  the  goodman  of  Dor- 
nal,  "  ye  shall  hae  some  supper  before  Ave  consider  your 
message.     Margaret,  will  you  set  the  table  ?" 

For  the  Elder  held  to  the  old  Scottish  saying  that  there 
can  be  no  suitable  discourse  between  a  full  man  and  a 
fasting. 

When  the  sheriff's  officer  had  finished  his  repast,  Mat- 
thew Armour  smiled  upon  him  and  said,  "And  now,  sir, 
you  will  bide  Avith  us  this  night.  The  room  and  bed  are 
ready,  the  night  is  dark,  and  you  have  far  to  go  before  you 
reach  your  home.'^ 

At  this  Willie  Gilroy,  Avho  had  done  so  many  messages 
of  pain  and  brought  trouble  into  so  many  houses,  found 
himself  embarrassed  for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

"You  had  better  see  this  first,"  he  said,  and  handing 
him  the  folded  paper  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  intently 
watching  the  face  of  the  Elder. 

The  goodman  of  Dornal  took  the  long,  blue  legal  docu- 
ment, and  straightening  it  out  upon  the  rough  calf-skin 
cover  of  the  Bible  he  carefully  Aviped  his  spectacles  and 
set  them  on  his  nose  with  the  natural  dignity  Avhicli  marked 
all  his  actions. 

Then,  draAving  the  candles  nearer,  he  began  to  peruse 
the  contents.  The  Avriting  set  forth  Avith  much  circum- 
locution that  uj^on  the  tAventy-fourth  day  of  November, 
being  Michaelmas  term  day,  MattheAv  Armour  Avas  called 
upon  to  quit  the  farm  of  Black  Dornal  and  to  remove 
therefrom  all  his  stock,  implements,  furniture,  bestial,  and 
everything  belonging  or  appertaining  to  him  from  the 
lands,  out-houses,  dAvelling- houses,  and  all  other  places 
upon  the  said  lands.  This  he  was  to  do  at  the  instance  of 
Walter  Mac  Walter  of  KirkosAvald,  proprietor  of  the  land 


THE    TAKING    OF    THE    BULK  131 

aforesaid  and  of  the  steading  and  offices  of  the  aforesaid 
Black  Dornal. 

Having  read  it  through  twice  very  calmly,  Matthew 
Armonr  folded  the  pajier  and  placed  it  between  the  pages 
of  the  Bible  from  which  he  had  been  reading. 

"^  This  will  await  consideration  till  morning,"  he  said, 
aloud.  And  with  eqnal  composure  he  engaged  his  guest 
in  talk  about  the  weather  and  the  prospects  of  the  cro^^s. 

Presently  the  goodwif  e  came  in  with  a  candle  in  her  hand. 

''The  room  is  ready,"  she  said,  smiling  upon  the  sherifE's 
officer  with  hospitable  good-will.  Willie  Gilroy  felt  more 
crushed  and  miserable  than  he  had  done  when  Marget,  his 
wife,  died.  Yet  he  told  himself  that  he  had  done  no  more 
than  his  duty.  Which  was  true  enough ;  but  conscience, 
when  it  awakes,  is  an  engine  Avholly  irrational  and  does 
not  care  even  for  the  best  excuses. 

"What  was  the  man's  business?"  asked  the  goodAvife  of 
her  husband  when  the  door  had  closed  upon  their  guest. 

"Nothing  that  need  vex  us,"  answered  her  husband, 
calmly,  "so  being  that  we  carry  it  to  a  throne  of  grace. 
We  will  take  our  sleep  first.  In  the  morning  Ave  Avill  con- 
sider it  together." 

And  being  accustomed  all  her  life  to  depend  upon  her 
husband's  judgment,  Margaret  Armour  laid  her  head  doAvn 
upon  the  pillow  and  slept.  But  the  Elder  lay  all  the  night 
Avith  nnshut  eye,  praying  to  his  God,  till  the  gray  light 
came  creeping  round  the  edges  of  the  window-blind  and 
the  early  bird  cried  in  the  rustling  beech-trees. 

Then  he  rose  and  went  out.  The  sun  Avas  rising  and 
making  of  the  east  a  broad  and  even  glory.  A  vane  upon 
the  roof  of  the  neAV  house  of  KirkosAvald,  all  that  could  be 
seen  of  it  from  the  farm  steading  of  Dornal,  glittered  cop- 
pery in  the  red  light. 

''As  we  forgive  tlieni  that  trespass  against  ns!"  said  the 
Euling  Elder,  and  Avent  like  a  man  Avith  his  mind  at  ease, 
to  do  the  morning  duties  of  the  farm. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   KOUP   OF   THE   ARMOURS 

Bitterly  the  wind  piped  across  the  moorlands.  It 
rushed  upon  the  onstead  of  the  Black  Dornal,  singing  one 
high  level  note  like  an  express  Avhistling  as  it  rushes  into  a 
tunnel.  It  was  the  Tuesday  before  the  Martinmas  term, 
and  the  day  of  the  Armours'  rouj). 

From  far  and  near  the  people  had  gathered  to  give  Mat- 
thew Armour  a  good  send-off.  As  the  harvest  had  been 
an  excellent  one,  their  pockets  were  well  lined  with  siller 
and  their  hearts  with  pity ;  for  by  this  time  all  the  world 
knew  that  it  was  his  son-in-law  who  was  putting  the  Elder 
out  of  his  ancient  holding. 

His  three  sons,  Rob,  Allen,  and  Archibald,  busied  them- 
selves with  bringing  forward  the  horses  and  cattle  into  the 
yard  where  Muckle  Jock  Bennett,  the  auctioneer  from 
Cairn  Edward,  had  been  jjlaying  his  oldest  and  most  suc- 
cessful jokes  for  three  long  hours,  and  getting  the  best 
prices  for  everything  from  the  good  and  kindly  folk  of  the 
united  parishes  of  Dullarg  and  Whinnyliggate. 

There  were  others  present  at  the  auction  besides  the 
country  folk,  Souter  (of  Snellgrove  &  Souter,  the  agents 
for  the  present  proprietor)  being  the  most  prominent.  He 
was  a  little  bow-shouldered  man,  with  a  reputation  for  great 
sharpness.  He  Avent  hither  and  thither,  pushing  through 
the  press  about  the  "  nowtbeasts,"  and  peering  cynically  at 
the  cattle  under  the  elbows  of  some  gigantic  farmer,  as  if 
mentally  estimating  how  worthless  a  lot  they  Avere. 


TJIE    ROUP    OF    THE    ARMOURS         133 

Also,  standing  shyly  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  with 
a  certain  calm  reserve  of  dignity,  Henry  Marchbaiiks,  the 
Cairn  Edward  banker,  was  often  pointed  out  as  the  best 
man  in  the  country-side,  ministers  not  excepted. 

Mr,  Osborne,  of  the  Kirk  on  the  Hill,  by  general  con- 
sent the  best  minister,  nodded  his  head  approvingly  when 
he  heard  the  verdict  of  the  popular  mouth. 

Mr.  Marchbanks  was  a  fellow  elder  of  Matthew  Armour's, 
though  a  man  of  not  quite  half  his  years.  He  had  few 
social  comings  and  goings,  save  with  the  like-minded  and 
like-hearted  intimates  Avhom  he  had  drawn  about  him. 
But  there  was  no  man  of  such  good  and  approveu  counsel 
in  twenty  parishes.  The  row  of  red  leather  Oliver  and 
Boyd's  Edinburgh  almanacs  in  his  little  consulting-room 
at  the  Bank  of  Scotland  had  listened  to  more  secrets  than 
any  score  of  lawyers'  desks  in  the  KSouth  Country.  Wher- 
ever there  was  a  widow  in  trouble,  a  good  man  in  the  toils, 
an  orphan  left  alone,  there  was  Henry  Marchbanks,  his 
tall,  slender  figure  and  calm  face  lifting  him  above  com- 
mon men.  And  if  you  stood  watching  him  in  ainy  gather- 
ing of  folk  in  his  own  or  a  neighboring  parish,  you  would 
see  grim  faces  soften  as  they  came  near  him.  Strong  hands 
were  silently  stretched  out  to  shake  his,  with  the  grip 
which  means  that  the  tongue  may  say  little  but  the  heart 
has  not  forgotten.  The  salt  water  Avould  stand  in  some 
woman's  eyes  as  she  minded  her  of  the  hour  of  her  calamity, 
and  thought  of  what  had  been  done  for  her  in  that  day  and 
of  the  man  who  did  it. 

Yet  no  one  dared  to  thank  Henry  Marchbanks  in  public, 
hardly  even  in  private.  But  the  general  heart  approved 
liim  as  the  man  who  in  all  the  county  stood  most  out  of 
reach  of  selfish  ends,  the  one  friend  whose  motives  were 
above  suspicion,  the  helper  to  whom  those  in  trouble  went 
straight  as  dove  to  its  window. 

Yet  Henry  Marchbanks  was  not  a  rich  man,  and  could 
give  little  money  away  in  comparison  with  others  of  far 


134  KIT    KENNEDY 

inferior  popularity.  For  "banker"  in  Scotland  means 
bank  agent,  and  Mr.  Marchbanks's  income  had  never  in  all 
his  life  equalled  that  of  a  tradesman  in  a  good  way  of  busi- 
ness in  the  town.  Yet,  when  in  the  fulness  of  time  the  first 
School  Board  came  to  Cairn  Edward,  and  the  people  con- 
sidered the  probabilities,  they  never  speculated  about  who 
would  be  top  of  the  poll.  They  only  discussed  the  second 
place — for,  "■  of  coorse,  Maister  Marchbanks  will  be  at  the 
head  o'  the  poll.  No  a  craitur  that  can  scart  wi'  a  callevine 
but  will  gie  him  a  vote  !"  Which  thing  in  due  time  befell. 
And  Henry  Marchbanks  became  for  a  season  the  chairman 
of  the  board,  and  piloted  that  crank  and  unseaworthy  bark 
with  rare  judgment  through  perils  of  waters,  ecclesiastical 
and  political.  Then  after  three  somewhat  barren  and 
thankless  years  he  retired,  and  never  again  could  be  in- 
duced to  assume  public  duties ;  for,  as  he  said  when  pressed, 
after  all  these  things  were  not  his  sphere. 

Such  was  the  man  who  now  stood  by  Matthew  Armour 
in  the  day  of  trouble. 

The  sale  proceeded  to  its  somewhat  sombre  end.  The 
cows  one  by  one  went  under  the  hammer.  The  horses  were 
brought  into  the  ring  and  led  out.  Eob  Armour's  lip 
quivered  strangely  at  the  thought  that  never  again  would 
he  lead  Bess  and  Jean  to  the  plough  in  the  morning,  when 
the  birds  were  twittering  their  brief  little  winter  song  of 
thanksgiving  for  open  weather,  and  the  sea-gulls  were  sweep- 
ing aloft — nor  ever  again  ride  them  home  with  outstretched 
necks  of  weariness,  their  chain-gear  clanking  in  the  even- 
ing stillness  as  they  turned  their  feet  gladly  towards  stable 
and  supper. 

Betty  Landsborough  wept  without  disguise  in  a  corner  of 
the  empty  byre  in  the  intervals  of  serving  refreshments, 
and  paid  no  heed  to  the  compliments  of  her  many  admirers. 
The  stalls,  already  void  and  cold,  where  Fleckie  and  Bell 
would  stand  no  more,  were  too  much  for  her. 

"What  for  are  ye  a'  forgrutten  ?"  said  handsome  Eckie 


THE    ROUP    OF    THE    AKMOUUS         135 

Fergnsson  of  Langbarns  ;  ^'ye'll  suiie  get  anither  place. 
Faith,  lass,  I  wad  gie  ye  yin  inysel'  that  ye  wadna  be  easy 
pitteii  oot  o'  !" 

But  Betty  passed  on  her  way  without  so  much  as  a  saucy 
look,  and  that  meant  much  from  a  maid  so  ready  of  retort 
and  so  willing  to  exercise  both  her  charms  and  her  repartee 
as  Mistress  Elizabeth  Landsborough. 

In  the  milk-house  to  the  north  Margaret  x\rmour  was  sit- 
ting by  herself  on  the  stone  shelf,  which  looked  bare  and 
forlorn  without  its  shining  white  wood  basins  and  cool 
blue  delft.     She  rocked  herself  to  and  fro. 

"  Ochanee — ochauee  !"  she  said  softly  to  herself,  using 
the  old  half-Erse  keening  cry  of  Galloway  which  most  have 
now  forgotten,  but  which  still  comes  uppermost  on  the  lijDS 
of  the  old  when  they  mourn  to  themselves  and  think  that 
none  are  near.  "  Ochanee — that  I  should  leave  the  bonny 
bit.  Here  I  cam'  a  bride  forty  years  since.  Forty  years 
last  May  on  the  face  o'  thae  craigs  Matthew  lifted  me  doon 
frae  the  beast's  back,  and  I  grat  on  his  shooder  because  I 
was  sae  young  to  hae  the  care  o'  a  hale  farm  toon,  and  I 
thocht  he  wad  be  disappointed  in  me. 

''And  there  by  the  saugh  tree  was  oor  wee  Lilias's  gar- 
den, and  she  was  that  fond  o'  her  bit  flooers.  I  mind  she 
had  a  bank  o'  daisies  an'  muckle  white  gowans  an  none-so- 
pretty.  Aye,  an'  wiien  I  gaed  to  the  kirk  she  wad  bring 
me  a  bit  sidderwood  for  my  kerchief  frae  that  bush  there, 
that  she  hersel'  planted.  She  caa'ed  it  'mither's  snulY.' 
Aye,  but  she  was  a  lichtsome  bit  thing  as  she  fiichtered  by 
like  a  butterflee  among  the  flooers.  Bless  the  Lord  that  I 
never  foresaw  this  day,  nor  a'  the  sorrow  that  was  to  licht 
on  her  young  life  !" 

She  had  not  heard  the  step  behind  her  as  she  sat  on  the 
cold  stone  seat,  drowned  m  sorrow  and  misery.  But  a  hand 
was  laid  on  her  shoulder — the  hand  of  the  Ruling  Elder. 

"  Come  your  ways  ben,  Marget,"  he  said  ;  "  we  will  go 
in  and  shut  to  the  door.     There  is  that  to  be  done  that 


136  KIT    KENNEDY 

only  yon  can  help  me  with  this  day — a  sacrifice  that  shall 
clear  our  hearts  and  let  us  hae  the  richt  to  look  every  man 
in  the  face,  owing  no  man  anything.  Yet  I  will  not  do  it 
without  your  approval.  We  haena faced  the  warl'  sae  lang 
thegither,  yon  and  me,  Marget  Armour,  to  be  divided  now, 
when  the  lift  is  dark  and  the  thunder  wakens  up  there 
amang  the  hills." 

"  Mathy,  Mathy,"said  his  wife,  catching  at  the  old  man's 
hand  and  holding  it  in  hers,  "  what  for  does  the  Lord  use 
us  this  way  ?  It  is  juist  as  if  we  hadna  tried  to  serve 
Him.  Yet  for  forty  year  we  hae  striven,  and  never  forgot- 
ten to  call  morning  and  evening  on  His  name.  And  after 
a'  He  has  forgotten  us.  Is  it  richt  o'  Him,  Mathy — d'ye 
think  it  is  richt  o'  the  Almighty  ?" 

The  face  of  the  Ruling  Elder  was  filled  with  greatness  at 
that  moment.  Yet  it  was  tender  also.  He  felt  the  tears 
of  the  wife  of  his  youth  fall  upon  his  hand  after  they  had 
run  down  her  withered  face. 

There  Avas  a  dangerous  break  in  his  own  voice  as  he  tried 
to  answer  her. 

''Marget,  Marget,  my  ain  lassie,"  he  said,  even  as  he 
used  to  do  when  he  came  to  her  father's  house  courtins: 
Margaret  MacBryde  half  a  century  before,  and  she  con- 
voyed him  in  the  gloaming  as  far  as  the  horse  -  watering 
place,  "ye  mauna  speak  that  gate.  Do  we  serve  the  Lord 
of  Hosts  for  what  we  can  get  ?  Shall  we,  the  creatures  of 
a  day,  keep  count  and  reckoning  wi'  Him  ?  Nay,  ]\[arget, 
dinna  fret  on  God.  Have  we  had  fifty  years  o'  the  won- 
ders o'  His  providence,  and  now  shall  we  rebel  when  for  a 
little  time  we  underlie  His  chastening  hand  ?" 

"I  never  thocht  to  leave  this  bonny  bit — to  forsake  the 
first  nest,  whereto  ye  brocht  me  a  bride,  Mathy.  We  hae 
been  sae  happy — sae  happy,  and  ye  hae  been  kind  to  me 
aye,  kinder  noo  when  I  am  auld  and  gray-headed  that  ye 
were  when  I  was  a  lassie — and  ye  thocht  mo  bonny. " 

The  Elder's  hand  patted  his  wife's  cheek. 


THE    ROUP    OF    THE    AKMOUKS         137 

''Hush  thee  then,  lassie,"  lie  said.  "I  have  never 
thocht  ye  bonnier  than  this  darksome  day,  and  when  His 
hand  is  heavy  npon  ns.  But  we  will  bide  its  liftin'  and 
win  through.  Think,  wife,  He  micht  hae  ta'en  the  yin  or 
the  t'ither  o'  us,  even  as  He  did  our  three  bonny  bairns, 
and  left  the  ither  to  battle  through  by  their  lane.  But  the 
Lord  has  tempered  His  judgments.  Mercy  is  His  attri- 
bute, and  justice  only  His  law.  And  we  winna  mourn 
ower  sair  as  if  we  mistrusted  Him  !     He  wadna  like  that." 

"I  ken,  I  ken,"  she  said,  bending  her  brow  till  it  rested 
against  his  hand,  "I  do  wrang  to  fret  ye  this  day,  Mathy, 
but  I  canna  help  it,  I  canna  help  it.  Ye  maun  juist  bear 
wi'  the  heart  o'  a  woman.  It's  no  reasonable  or  richt,  I 
ken,  to  mourn  like  this.     And  yet — " 

''Come  your  ways,  Marget,"  said  her  husband,  gently 
raising  her  ;  "  come  your  ways  ben,  and  we  will  gang  into 
the  closet  and  shut  to  the  door.  This  trial  shall  not  break 
our  faith.  I  hae  thocht  ower  muckle  o'  this  world,  and 
maybe  the  Accuser  of  the  Brethren  came  also  to  present 
himself  before  the  Lord,  and  said  of  me,  '  Doth  Matthew 
Armour  serve  God  for  naught  ?'" 

"  For  Uuenty-three  j^ound  going,  this  valuable  coo !"  It 
was  the  voice  of  Muckle  Jack  Bennet  in  loud  announce- 
ment which  came  to  them  from  the  outer  yard.  "  Have 
ye  a'  dune  at  twenty-three  ?  Thank  ye,  Airieland  !  Twenty- 
four  is  bid.  No  advance  on  twenty-four  ?  At  twenty-four 
this  excellent  Ayrshire  coo  in  full  milk,  going  —  going  — 
gone  !     She's  yours,  Airieland,  and  I  wish  ye  joy  o'  her." 

The  milk-house  door  burst  open,  and  Kit  Kennedy  came 
flying  in. 

"They  are  selling  the  kye,  granny;  come  quick.  And 
tliey  say  there  never  were  sic  prices  as  they  are  gettin' !" 

To  Kit  the  roup  was  a  day  of  high  excitement.  He  had 
no  sentiment  about  leaving  the  Dornal  save  that  he  would 
see  new  things  at  last,  and  in  his  secret  heart  he  hoped 


138  KIT    KENNEDY 

that  perhaps  his  grandmother  and  grandfather  might  flit 
somewhere  where  he  would  not  have  to  go  to  school  any 
more.  He  did  not  mind  the  lessons,  but  he  hated  sitting 
still  so  long.  So  Kit  alone,  of  all  the  family,  actually  en- 
joyed the  sale.  He  drove  forward  the  calves  with  hearty 
good-will.  He  helped  at  the  "^buchts"  with  the  sheep. 
He  rode  upon  the  iron  roller  as  it  was  taken  away.  Pen- 
nies, even  shillings,  were  showered  upon  him,  till  he  had 
quite  a  hoard  in  his  pocket. 

Suddenly  he  noticed  the  serene  gravity  on  his  grand- 
father's face,  the  traces  of  recent  tears  on  that  of  his  grand- 
mother. He  stared  amazed,  vaguely  comprehending  that 
there  might  be  another  standpoint  than  his  own,  from 
which  to  view  all  this  excitement  and  commotion. 

"  Ye  are  vexed,  grandfaither,"  he  said,  anxiously;  "what 
is  it  ?  Is  it  siller  ?  Dinna  greet,  granny.  I'll  gie  ye  a' 
mine.     I  hae  lots  and  lots  !" 

He  pulled  out  a  double  handful  of  mingled  silver  and 
copper.  "Hae,"  he  cried,  eagerly,  "  tak'  that;  I  dinna 
want  it.  I  hae  mair  in  the  bank.  And  ye  can  hae  my 
bools  and  my  green  missionary  box  and  my  wee  cairt  wi' 
the  blue  wheels.  I'll  gie  ye  them  a',  but  dinna  greet,  grand- 
mither  !     Grown  folk  shouldna  greet !" 

The  old  man  patted  the  boy  on  the  head  and  smiled, 
down  at  his  wife. 

"I  telled  ye  the  Lord  had  been  guid  to  us,"  he  said; 
"this  laddie  will  make  it  up  to  us.  Mind  that  we  are 
suffering  in  his  cause.  You  and  me,  Marget,  may  not  live 
to  see  it,  but  in  the  time  to  come  this  boy  will  make  glad 
many  hearts.  Show,  therefore,  a  comfortable  face  before 
the  friends  who  have  come  in  the  day  of  our  calamity,  and 
let  us  give  thanks  for  our  many  mercies  !" 

And  with  this  the  Euling  Elder  and  his  wife  went  out 
of  the  little  milk-house,  both  of  them  together,  and  pass- 
ing through  the  crowd  of  buyers  and  sympathizers,  they 
entered   into    their   own   chamber.      But   when    Matthew 


THE    ROUP    OF    THE    AUMOUliS  139 

Armour  knelt  down  there  was  nothing  but  thanksgiving 
in  all  his  prayer.  For  as  ho  said  afterwards,  "Shall  we  not 
trnst  the  Lord  to  do  that  which  is  best  without  directing 
Him  ?  Have  we  received  good  from  His  hand,  and  shall 
wo  not  receive  evil  ?" 

So  with  well-assured  hearts  the  pair  made  them  ready 
for  that  which  yet  remained  to  be  done. 


CHAPTER  XX 

KIT  Kennedy's  sale  by  auction 

Pkesently  Matthew  Armour  and  his  wife  went  out  and 
stood  on  the  doorstep,  looking  down  on  the  crowd  with 
calm  and  smiling  countenances,  from  which  every  appear- 
ance of  emotion  had  passed  away. 

They  could  see  at  the  entering  in  of  the  courtyard  the 
dark  burly  figure  of  Walter  Mac  Walter.  "  He  had  ridden 
over  to  be  in  at  the  death,"  as  the  crowd  put  it.  His 
horse  was  tethered  to  the  gatepost,  and  whinnied  fitfully 
as  the  Dornal  plough  teams  were  led  away  by  their  new 
owners. 

At  this  moment  there  came  a  burst  of  laughter  from 
the  crowd,  and  a  pressure  of  heads  forward  towards  the 
auctioneer.  He  was  talking  to  some  one  down  near  the 
ground,  and  the  bystanders  were  evidently  listening  with 
eager  amusement. 

Then  the  voice  of  Kit  Kennedy  rose  above  the  tumult, 
its  childish  treble  piping  out  clear  and  distinct. 

"But  ye  maun  sell  them — I  tell  ye  that  ye  will  sell  them. 
My  grandfaither  needs  the  siller.  And  my  grandmither 
was  greetin'  sair.  I  will  part  wi'  them  and  gie  her  the 
siller.     And  then  maybe  granny  will  no  greet  ony  mair  !" 

With  a  half-humorous  shake  of  the  head  Muckle  Bennet 
gave  in  to  the  boy's  persistence.  And  presently  upon  the 
broad  rough  platform  of  planking  before  him  appeared  the 
blue  go-cart  which  Geordie  Elphinstone,  the  neat-handed 
Irish  surface-man,  had  made  for  Kit,  a  peck  measure  half 


KIT    KENNEDY'S    SALE    BY    AUCTION   141 

full  of  marbles,  a  wooden  horse  with  three  legs,  and  a  large 
clasp-knife  with  one  blade  broken. 

Margaret  Armour  would  have  spoken,  but  her  husband 
stayed  her. 

"  Let  be,"  he  said  ;  ''this  may  be  from  the  Lord.  It  is 
an  answer  to  our  prayer.  If  we  have  lost  something  for 
His  sake,  surely  we  also  gain  much." 

There  was  no  laughter  among  the  crowd  now.  On  the 
outskirts  some  poor  women  who  had  lingered  to  pick  up  odd 
household  gear  were  sobbing  without  disguise.  The  men 
looked  shamefacedly  at  the  ground,  at  the  tree-tops,  over 
the  platform — anywhere  but  at  one  another. 

Even  the  auctioneer,  who  had  the  repute  of  being  copper- 
fastened  as  to  cheek,  and  iron  as  to  nerve,  who  united  the 
voice  of  a  brazen  bull  to  the  sentimentality  of  a  horse- 
dealer,  did  not  seem  quite  to  achieve  his  customary  fluency 
or  raciness  in  description.  It  was  felt  that  he  was  not 
doing  himself  justice. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  ''here  is  the  closing  bargain 
of  the  sale,  and  it  is  a  collection  of  gems.  Never  in  all  my 
experience  have  I  had  such  a  recherchey  lot  to  offer.  A 
coach  and  harness  all  complete,  carefully  upholstered  in 
blue  paint,  and  with  a  window  in  the  back  in  case  any  lady 
should  want  to  faint.  I  do  not  conceal  from  you  that  one 
wheel  comes  off,  and  the  harness  is  mended  with  string. 
But  I  can  recommend  the  turnout  to  any  family  wanting  a 
reliable  article  to  take  them  to  the  kirk  on  Sabbaths.  How 
much,  gentlemen,  is  bid  for  this  valuable  family  coach,  with 
trimmings  all  complete  ?" 

Then  from  the  crowd  there  came  a  curious  wavering  cry, 
as  one  and  another  with  children  of  their  own  spoke  out 
their  hearts. 

"  Dinna  sell  it !  Let  the  laddie  keep  his  muckle  cairt ! 
It's  a  cryin'  shame,  so  it  is." 

Once  more  rose  the  treble  of  Kit  Kennedy  high  above 
the  growl  and  murmur  of  the  assembly. 


142  KIT    KENNEDY 

"They  are  my  aiu  to  sell  if  I  like.  I  will  sell  them,  and 
granny  shallna  greet  ony  mair." 

Then  over  the  heads  of  the  people  came  the  grnff  voice 
of  Walter  Mac  Walter.  "  Quit  this  fooling,"  he  said. 
''Auctioneer,  I  call  upon  you  to  go  on  with  the  sale,  or  to 
declare  it  closed  if  it  is  finished." 

Eor  he  had  caught  the  rumble  of  the  people's  anger,  and 
he  noticed  with  a  curiously  vivid  resentment  that  Avhenever 
he  came  near  any  man  or  Avoman  they  had  instantly  business 
in  another  quarter.  Being  a  man  constitutionally  eager  for 
popularity,  this  cut  him  to  the  quick. 

But  Muckle  Jock  Bennet  did  not  like  the  laird  of  Kirk- 
oswald.  "I  am  here  to  sell  the  entire  stock  and  plenishing 
at  my  own  discretion  as  to  time.  And  the  last  item  in  this 
bill  is  sundries.  Now  these  articles  evidently  come  under 
that  head.  So  the  sale  is  not  over  till  they  be  disposed  of 
to  the  highest  bidder.  How  much  is  offered  for  this 
coach  ?" 

The  murmur  suddenly  e;xploded  into  a  series  of  sharp 
bids,  some  half  laughingly  given,  others  with  a  certain 
shamefacedness  characteristic  of  AVhinnyliggate  when  it 
was  foolish  enough  to  do  a  kind  action.  A  whisper  also 
went  round,  '"'Let  us  buy  them  and  gie  them  back  to  the 
laddie." 

"  Half -a- croon  r  "Three  shillin' !"  "And  thrip  !" 
"And  six."     So  ran  the  bidding. 

"I  bid  a  pound,"  said  the  quiet  voice  of  Henry  March- 
banks  over  the  shoulders  of  the  throng,  and  the  coach  was 
knocked  down  to  him.  The  key-note  was  struck.  The 
peck  measure  with  the  marbles  was  disposed  of  for  twelve 
shillings  to  the  parish  minister.  A  top  went  for  eight 
shillings — "going  at  a  sacrifice  to  clear  out !"  said  the 
auctioneer  as  he  knocked  it  down  to  a  swarthy  bachelor 
farmer.  "  Ye'll  hae  to  set  aboot  getting  the  bairns  to  play 
with  it  at  yince,  Urioch,"  he  added. 

At  this  the  people  had  begun  to  laugh  with  the  curious 


KIT    KENNEDY'S    SALE    BY    AUCTION   143 

li3'stei'ical  lauglitcr  which  may  sometimes  be  heard  in  sacred 
places  in  hot  weather.  And  when  Kit,  dissatisfied  with  tlie 
auctioneer's  praises  of  his  favorite  possessions,  mounted  the 
platform,  there  was  a  general  shout  of  welcome. 

"This  is  a  grand  horse.  Dapple  G-ray  is  its  name,"  said 
Kit.  "  I  want  a  lot  for  it.  And  I'll  no  let  it  gang  unless 
the  man  that  gets  it  promises  to  be  kind  to  Dapple  and 
fodder  him  every  nicht  and  gie  him  fresh  beddin'.  For 
he's  a  prood  horse,  and  has  been  used  to  kindness  a'  his 
life.     Noo,  bid  awa'." 

And  bid  they  did,  fast  and  furious,  betwixt  laughter  and 
tears.  The  ball  was  set  rolling  by  an  offer  of  ten  shillings 
for  Dapple.  It  Avas  offered  by  the  mother  of  ten,  and 
though  she  could  ill  afford  it,  she  followed  bravely  on  till 
the  noble  steed  had  reached  eighteen  shillings.  Then, 
recognizing  that  there  was  keen  competition,  she  dropped 
quietly  out.  But  Mr.  Marchbanks  gave  her  an  approving 
nod  Avhich  made  her  a  proud  Avoman  that  day. 

The  young  farmer  of  Urioch,  Gavin  Black,  was  perhaps 
the  most  determined  and  enterprising,  but  he  was  closely 
followed  by  the  auctioneer's  brother,  a  notable  horse-dealer 
from  Cairn  Edward,  known  to  all  the  world  as  "Muckle 
Jock  Bennet's  Muckler  Brither,"  who  examined  Dapple 
Gray's  points  with  professional  straw  in  mouth,  hissing  as 
he  did  so. 

"  Three  pounds  is  offered — only  three  pounds  for  this 
excellent  draught-horse.  He  has  certainly  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  lose  one  of  his  legs.  But  as  he  runs  on  wheels 
this  does  not  in  the  least  interfere  either  with  his  action  or 
his  usefulness." 

So  for  one  of  the  most  interesting  quarter-hours  that 
Whinnyliggate  had  ever  known  Dapple  Gray  continued 
skying,  till  finally  he  was  knocked  down  to  the  cattle-deal- 
er for  five  pounds  ten,  "  the  cheapest  beast  I  ever  bought 
in  all  my  life,"  said  Barney  Bennet,  smiling  broadly  as 
the  whole  circle  of  his  friends  congratulated  him  on  his 


144  KIT    KENNEDY 

pnrchase,  and  asked  him  if  he  had  got  a  pedigree  and  war- 
ranty with  Dapple,  and  if  he  did  not  mean  personally  to 
"  travel "  the  country  with  him.  When  Kit  came  down 
from  the  rostrum  he  was  nearly  swamped  with  the  coinage 
(ranging  from  pennies  to  half-crowns)  which  was  poured 
into  his  pockets.  All  the  women  wanted  to  pet  him.  The 
men  felt  his  muscle,  and  proj)hesied  well  of  his  gameness. 
The  boys  present  waxed  green  with  envy  of  his  notoriety, 
and  resolved  to  lick  it  out  of  him  on  the  first  favorable  oc- 
casion. There  were  no  girls  present  or  they  would  have 
worshipped  him — that  is,  except  Betty  Landsborough,  and 
she  did  that  already.     Betty  did  not  count. 

The  people  still  lingered  about,  some  of  them  settling 
with  the  auctioneer,  others  only  talking  upon  general  sub- 
jects, but  most  with  a  strange  feeling  that  all  was  not  yet 
over.  For  one  thing  Henry  Marchbanks  stood  behind  the 
auctioneer's  clerk  as  he  totted  up  the  figures  with  a  look 
of  satisfaction  on  his  face.  Then,  taking  something  out 
of  his  pocket,  he  went  to  Matthew  Armour,  and  without  a 
word  jjut  a  sheaf  of  notes  into  his  hand. 

Walter  Mac  Walter  was  talking  to  his  agent,  Souter  the 
lawyer,  with  an  affectation  of  ostentatious  ease.  He 
slapped  his  riding  breeches  with  his  switch,  and  occasion- 
ally laughed  aloud  as  at  some  rare  jest.  All  the  same  his 
gayety  sounded  a  little  forced,  like  bravado. 

But  for  all  that  he  kept  his  eyes  uneasily  about  him,  and 
when  he  saw  his  father-in-law  come  towards  him,  he  start- 
ed and  dropped  both  his  whip  and  the  sentence  he  had 
begun,  leaving  the  latter  suspended  in  the  air  like  the  un- 
finished arch  of  a  bridge. 

So  strained  was  the  attention  of  the  people  that,  when  the 
Euling  Elder  approached  Walter  Mac  Walter,  every  conver- 
sation died  a  natural  death,  and  men  drifted  towards  the 
center  of  the  yard  where  the  new  proprietor  and  the  out  go- 
ing tenant  of  the  farm  of  Black  Dornal  had  met  each  other. 


KIT    KENNEDY'S    SALE    BY    AUCTION   145 

Matthew  Armour  stood  in  front  of  his  son-in-law. 

''I  have  somewhat  to  say  to  you,  sir,"  he  began.  ''I 
make  no  compkiint  of  what  you  have  done.  A  man  has  a 
right  to  do  what  he  will  with  his  own.  But  in  one  thing 
I  must  liberate  my  own  conscience.  Eight  years  ago  I  Avas 
called  upon  unexpectedly  to  pay  a  debt  of  six  hundred 
pounds  which  had  been  incurred  when  my  father  took 
over  the  stock  many  years  ago.  This  debt  had  always  been 
allowed  to  remain  upon  the  yearly  payment  of  the  interest, 
but  eight  years  ago  my  lord  needed  the  money  and  I  Avas 
suddenly  called  upon  to  pay  it.  Again  a  man  may  do  what 
he  will,  and  there  is  no  wrong  in  asking  for  one's  own. 
But  at  the  time,  without  denuding  the  farm  of  stock,  I 
had  not  the  wherewithal  to  pay,  and  you,  sir,  came  for- 
ward with  an  offer  of  money.  You  took  no  acknowledg- 
ment from  me.  You  asked  me  to  consider  the  money  as  a 
ffift.  But  neither  then  nor  now  have  I  ever  been  able  to 
do  so.  The  stock  upon  the  Black  Dornal  has  always  been 
yours  in  my  eyes,  and  I  liave  looked  upon  myself  as  keep- 
ing it  in  trust  for  you.  Now  that  it  is  sold,  I  desire  to  re- 
pay you  the  money  I  owe  you,  with  interest  at  live  per  cent., 
that  all  may  be  clear  between  us.  And  I  thank  you,  sir, 
before  these  our  neighbors,  for  every  forbearing  kindness 
you  have  showed  me  and  mine  in  the  past.  And  may  the 
Most  High,  in  whose  hands  are  riches  and  poverty,  bless 
and  advantage  you  in  your  new  possessions." 

Walter  MacWalter  had  automatically  drawn  back  his 
hand  when  Matthew  Armour  offered  him  the  sheaf  of  crisp 
and  rustling  notes.  He  was  about  to  refuse,  for  he  was 
not  wholly  destitute  of  human  feeling.  Indeed,  had  his 
hatred  of  Kit  Kenndy  not  embittered  him,  he  would  cer- 
tainly not  have  taken  the  money. 

But  his  agent  was  at  his  elbow,  and  whispered  some- 
thing to  him.  At  the  same  moment  he  caught  sight  of 
Kit  Kennedy,  who  had  just  come  into  the  yard,  leading  his 
pet  lamb  Donald.     Instantly  black  hatred,  and  the  jeal- 

10 


146  KIT    KENNEDY 

onsy  that  is  cruel  as  the  grave,  hardened  his  heart  and 
smothered  all  generosity. 

He  reached  out  his  hand  and  took  the  notes. 

"  I  never  expected  to  set  eyes  on  the  money,"  he  said, 
brutally,  ''but  I'll  not  deny  that  the  feeling  does  you 
credit  in  the  circumstances.  My  lawyer  will  Avrite  you  a 
receipt." 

"He  need  not  trouble  himself,"  said  the  Elder;  "these 
good  friends  will  bear  me  witness.    I  bid  you  good  day,  sir  !" 

As  has  been  recorded.  Kit  Kennedy  came  into  the  ring 
dragging  after  him  his  pet  lamb  Donald.  He  had  put  a 
rope  round  its  neck,  and  Donald  was  objecting  furiously. 

"  I  forgot,"  he  cried,  "  this  is  my  ain.  I'm  gaun  to  sell 
him  to  get  siller  for  granny.  But  Donald  is  no  to  be  killed 
for  mutton.  He  maun  be  keepit  for  his  fleece,  and  he 
maun  liae  milk  for  his  breakfast  every  mornin'.  And  he 
winna  gang  wi'  the  ither  sheep,  but  vfV  the  kye.  For  he's 
a  prood  beast  and  very  particular.  Noo,  boo  muckle  for 
Donald  ?" 

All  the  time  the  black  pet  lamb  was  making  furious 
rushes  this  way  and  that,  and  in  one  of  them  he  hapjiened 
to  knock  slightly  against  Walter  MacWalter.  He  raised 
his  heavy  riding  boot  and  kicked  the  pet  lamb  on  the  side, 
so  that  Donald  emitted  a  piteous  little  shivering  bleat  of 
pain. 

And  then  the  assembled  parish  had  its  first  glimpse  of 
the  true  character  of  Kit  Kennedy.  The  boy's  face  went 
suddenly  white.  Fury  gleamed  in  his  eyes.  He  was  stand- 
ing on  the  wooden  platform,  up  the  steps  of  which  he  had 
been  endeavoring  to  haul  his  recalcitrant  property.  He 
dropped  the  rope  instantly  and  sprang  like  a  cat  at  the 
throat  of  Walter  MacWalter,  fastening  his  teeth  in  his 
neck  and  gripping  both  hands  into  his  full  black  beard. 
The  force  of  the  assault  and  its  unexpectedness  together 
brought  Donald's  enemy  to  the  ground. 

The  lawyer  tried  to  pull  him  oif,  but  though  battered 


KIT    KENNEDY'S    SALE    BY    AUCTION   117 

with  powerful  fists  in  front,  and  pulled  at  least  adequately 
from  behind,  Kit  held  his  grip  with  a  fierce  blind  determi- 
nation. 

At  last  he  was  thrown  off,  only  to  rush  again  to  the  as- 
sault. But  the  big  cattle-dealer  gathered  him  uj)  with  a 
hand  in  his  collar,  as  he  might  have  done  a  small  game  dog 
that  had  no  chance  in  a  battle  Avith  one  greatly  its  superior 
in  size. 

"Bide  ye,  bide  ye,"  ho  Avhispered  to  Kit,  "ye've  dune 
weel.     Let  him  alane  noo  !" 

Walter  Mac  Walter  rose  with  the  marks  of  Kit's  hands 
and  teeth  uj^on  him,  and  strode  furiously  forward  to  seize 
him.  But  Mnckle  Jock's  Muckler  Brither  stood  in  the  way, 
and  the  larger  half  of  Whinnyliggate  edged  its  way  between. 

"  I'll  have  the  law  on  the  young  scoundrel  !  Ill  ruin 
him  yet !"  he  cried.    ''Come,  Souter,  let  us  get  out  of  this  \" 

And  he  went  through  the  farmyard  of  Dornal,  amid  the 
low  murmur  of  hatred  and  contempt  Avhich  had  been  fol- 
lowing him  all  day,  towards  the  place  where  his  horse  stood 
^..'thered. 

When  he  was  fairly  gone  Kit  disengaged  himself  from 
the  grip  of  the  cattle-dealer.  "And  noo,"  he  said,  as  if 
nothing  had  happened,  "  hoo  muckle  for  Donald?  But 
he's  no  to  be  killed.     Mind  ye  that !" 

The  young  farmer  of  Urioch  finally  bought  him  for  five 
pounds — "  as  an  ornament,"  he  said.  And  Kit  collected 
the  money  on  the  spot. 

He  handed  the  whole  proceeds  of  his  small  private 
auction  —  thirty -one  pounds,  eight  and  a  penny  —  to  his 
grandmother. 

"Hae,"  he  said,  "dinna  greet  ony  mair  !  We  can  leeve 
on  this  till  it  be  done,  and  by  that  time  I'll  be  a  man  and 
makin'  plenty  o'  siller  !" 

"  Are  wo  not  more  tlian  rewarded,  Marget  ?"  said  his 
grandfather,  looking  fondly  down  at  him,  and  touching  his 
hair  lightly.  "Verily,  out  of  Zion,  the  perfection  of 
beauty,  Grod  hath  shined  I" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

RULING   ELDER   AND   STONE-BREAKER 

With  a  clear  conscience,  a  hundred  pounds  in  the  bank 
(without  counting  Kit's  treasure-trove),  and  the  universal 
respect  of  his  neighbors,  Matthew  Armour,  with  Margaret 
his  wife.  Kit  Kennedy,  and  Betty  Landsborough,  retired 
to  the  Crae  cottage,  a  little  house  under  shelter  of  a  wood 
at  the  other  side  of  the  Loch  of  Grannoch.  The  laird  of 
Crae  was,  as  he  said  himself,  neither  great  kirk-goer  or 
kirk  lover ;  but  he  admired  honesty  and  uprightness  of 
dealing  as  between  man  and  man.  Also  he  had  disliked 
Walter  MacWalter  ever  since  he  came  into  the  country- 
side, with  the  half-contemptuous  aversion  of  a  man  of  old 
family  for  one  whom  he  looks  upon  as  a  merely  vulgar  and 
moneyed  interloper.  Mr.  Kinmont  Bruce  was  not  sorry, 
therefore,  to  have  it  in  his  power  to  annoy  his  enemy  with- 
out great  cost  to  himself. 

He  was  comparatively  a  poor  man,  and  his  farms  and 
moors  were  all  let.  The  shooting  tenant  lived  in  the  man- 
sion-house, and  Mr.  Kinmont  Bruce  himself,  a  bachelor 
and  a  great  traveller,  occupied  the  factor's  lodge  and  dis- 
charged his  duties. 

Now  the  laird  of  Crae  was  a  road  trustee,  and  his  word 
had  power  with  the  surveyor.  So  in  a  few  days  Matthew 
Armour,  with  an  equal  mind  and  Avith  his  natural  strength 
yet  unabated  by  the  creeping  chills  of  age,  Avent  out  to 
break  stones  upon  the  roadsides  of  Whinnyliggate.  And 
that  strong-hearted  community,  permeated  to  the  core  with 


RULING    ELDER    AND    STONE-BREAKER   149 

the  republican  equalities  of  three  hundred  years  of  Pres- 
bytery, thought  neither  the  better  nor  the  worse  of  him  for 
the  change. 

His  sons  scattered,  two  of  them  becoming  porters  on  the 
railway  at  Cairn  Edward,  and  Rob,  who  for  various  reasons 
desired  to  remain  near  his  father  and  mother,  entering 
into  the  employ  of  the  laird  of  Crae  as  junior  forester. 

Betty  Landsborough  accompanied  her  master  and  mis- 
tress to  their  new  abode.  She  had  her  own  views  upon  the 
matter,  though  perhaps  she  did  not  reveal  all  her  motives 
to  tlie  world  at  large. 

"I  ken  brawly  that  I  could  get  anither  place/'  she  said, 
when  her  mistress  remonstrated  with  her ;  "  but  I'm  no 
gaun  hame  where  I'm  no  wanted  and  no  needed.  I  can 
do  bravely  withoot  wages  in  the  meantime.  There  is  a 
decent  garret  at  the  Crae,  for  I  hae  seen  it.  And  ye  are 
neither  so  young  nor  yet  so  able  to  work  as  ye  were.  So 
to  the  Crae  I'm  comin',  and  ye'll  surely  never  put  me  to 
the  door." 

To  her  master  she  said,  "Maister  Armour,  I  hae  been 
in  your  hoose  since  I  was  a  bit  bairn  leavin'  the  schule.  I 
hae  learned  whatever  guid  I  hae  in  me  frae  you.  What  ill 
I  hae  dune  has  been  niysel',  but  the  guid — an'  I'm  dootfu', 
there's  no  muckle  to  speak  aboot — has  been  juist  you  and 
the  mistress.  If  ye  can  be  doin'  wi'  me,  I  will  work  my 
fingers  to  the  bane  for  you  and  yours,  and  for  that  bonnie 
laddie  there,  puir  faitherless  thing.  Leave  the  mistress 
an'  you  !  Na,  f egs,  no  likely ;  that's  never  Betty  Lands- 
borough  !" 

So  in  a  week's  time  Crae  Cottage  had  a  new  face  put 
on  it  without  and  within,  and  Betty  Landsborough  went 
about  with  a  sharper  tongue  than  ever  and  a  glow  of 
honest  pride  on  her  face.  When  Rob  came  home  at  nights 
from  his  work  in  the  Crae  woods  she  gave  him  no  rest,  but 
set  him  to  chop  wood  and  stack  it  in  the  little  peat-house. 
She  sent  him  to  the  well  for  water,  and  refused  to  accom- 


150  KIT    KENNEDY 

pany  him  thither  so  much  as  one  single  stejD  on  his  way. 
She  set  Mrs.  Armour  down  in  the  rocking-chair  with  her 
knitting,  bidding  her  take  her  rest,  for  that  she  was  just 
in  the  way  anywhere  else,  and  it  was  time  that  she  should 
take  things  easy  with  young  arms  and  legs  to  run  and 
work  for  her.  And  in  every  way  Betty  Landsborough  was 
quite  another  Betty  from  the  girl  she  had  been  in  the  old 
thoughtless  days  at  the  Dornal  before  the  coming  of  the 
trouble. 

It  chanced  one  day  that  Matthew  Armour  worked  in  his 
sheltered  roadside  nook  at  his  growing  stone-pile.  His 
arms,  strong  as  oaken  boughs,  gnarled  from  wrestling  with 
winter  gales,  soon  struck  firm  and  true  at  the  stubborn 
rock.  And  though  for  the  first  few  days  he  was  weary 
with  a  deadly  weariness  and  almost  fainted  by  the  way,  yet 
now  he  was  learning  how  to  strike  with  the  least  efEort  and 
with  the  greatest  effect. 

Geordie  Elphinstone,  an  old  and  experienced  adept  at 
the  art,  showed  the  Elder  how  and  where  to  take  the 
stone.  He  pointed  out  the  line  of  least  resistance,  and 
how,  when  the  tap  was  rightly  driven  home,  the  stone 
would  fall  apart  of  itself. 

"It's  no  strength  that  docs  it,  it's  airt,"  said  Geordie. 
And  Matthew  Armour  was  learning  the  "airt." 

Geordie  would  willingly  have  showed  him  various  other 
paying  things  connected  with  the  method  of  making  up 
a  stone-heap  to  look  more  than  its  size.  But  the  surprise 
in  the  old  man's  eyes  caused  him  to  change  his  mind. 

"Of  coorse,"  he  said,  "that's  what  the  ill  fowk  do.  I 
was  only  warnin'  you.  There  are  some  gye  coorse  boys 
knappin'  on  this  section." 

Mr.  Osborne  walked  out  from  Cairn  Edward  to  visit 
his  elder  at  his  work,  and  knew  better  than  to  condole 
with  him.  But  he  blistered  his  hands,  soft  with  sermon- 
writing,  in  trying  to  reduce  the  stubborn  block  of  whin- 
stone  to  the  standard  size.     Matthew  let  him  thrash  his 


RULING    ELDER    AND    STONE-BREAKER   151 

fill,  and  then  told   liim  that  the   one  he  had   chosen  had 
been  thrown  aside  as  impervious  to  treatment. 

''And  what  for  did  not  you  warn  me,  Elder  ?"  said  his 
minister,  ruefully  glancing  at  his  damaged  hands. 

"It  is  whiles  for  our  souls'  guid  to  break  ourselves 
against  that  which  we  cannot  accomplish,"  said  Matthew 
Armour,  quoting  from  last  week's  sermon  at  the  Kirk  on 
the  Hill. 

Then  the  well-mated  pair  proceeded  to  hold  high  dis- 
course of  fate  and  freewill,  the  decrees  of  God,  of  fore- 
knowledge and  predestination,  while  the  Ruling  Elder, 
with  his  wire  goggles  on  the  stubhorn  stone,  brought 
down  his  hammer  with  the  steady  cracTc,  croch  of  a  master 
of  the  trade,  and  the  minister  sucked  tart  "sourocks"  and 
gave  God  thanks  that  he  was  privileged  to  have  such  a 
man  as  Matthew  Armour  to  measure  himself  against,  as  it 
were,  shoulder  to  shoulder. 

"  I  have  a  '  piece '  here  ;  I  told  the  wife  I  might  not  be 
back  to  dinner,"  said  Mr.  Osborne,  diplomatically ;  "  will 
ye  join  me,  Elder  ?" 

"  For  me  also  Betty  Landsborough  put  up  something," 
returned  the  Elder.  "  I  kenna  what  it  was,  but  we'll  see." 
And  so,  at  the  hour  of  noon,  by  the  side  of  the  common 
highway,  these  two  Christian  gentlemen  bared  their  heads, 
and  the  Elder  said  grace  at  the  request  of  his  minister. 
They  were  cheerily  happy,  too,  with  the  fine  sauce  which 
comes  of  hunger  and  a  good  conscience  as  kitchen  to  their 
dry  bread. 

For  along  with  his  trouble  there  had  arrived  to  the 
Elder  a  yet  rarer  gentleness.  His  ultra-sternness  seemed 
to  have  passed  away,  and  a  kindly  tolerance  had  taken  its 
place. 

"  It  is  good  for  me  to  be  here,"  said  the  minister  at  last ; 
"but  old  Marget  Elshioner  is  waiting  for  me  at  the  Cross 
Roads,  puir  body.  And,  moreover,  I  am  only  keeping  you 
from  your  work." 


152  KIT    KENNEDY 

Elder  and  minister  parted  with  a  friendly  nod,  but  no 
handshake,  and  for  an  hour  only  the  rise  and  fall  of  the 
hammer  broke  the  stillness,  till  a  whinchat  came  near  and 
perched  upon  the  dyke  near  by  where  lay  Matthew's  coat. 
iSo  regular  were  the  old  man's  movements  that  the  bird 
sang  its  little  song  two  or  three  times  over  before  stepping 
down  and  beginning  to  peck  at  the  crumbs  that  had  fallen 
from  the  table  of  these  two  rich  men,  the  minister  of  the 
Kirk  on  the  Hill  and  the  extruded  farmer  of  Black  Dornal. 

It  was  three  of  the  afternoon  before  another  wayfarer 
came  along  the  turnpike  by  the  side  of  the  loch. 

Walter  MacAYalter  was  on  his  way  to  visit  his  friend 
Wandale.  The  factor  had  done  his  work  and  would  be 
wanting  his  pay.  The  Laird  of  Kirkoswald  and  Dornal 
was  in  good  humor.  Ilis  dark  spirit  looked  out  of  his 
eyes  over  the  moors  of  his  new  possession  and  pleased  itself 
with  victor3^  He  had  lunched,  and  during  that  repast 
had  asked  his  wife  over  and  over  again  whether  he  had  not 
now  fully  repaid  her  father  for  his  trick  of  keeping  that 
boy  about  the  country.  As  he  put  it,  in  his  delicate  way, 
Jie  had  "rubbed  it  into  him." 

He  had  not  seen  his  father-in-law  since  the  day  of  the 
roup.  As  he  went,  jogging  comfortably  on  his  beast,  con- 
scious of  his  own  importance  and  the  excellence  of  his 
balance  at  the  bank,  he  came  in  sight  of  a  figure  in  the 
little  square  indentation  cut  from  the  side  of  the  road, 
which,  in  all  parts  of  the  empire,  is  sacred  to  the  priest- 
hood of  Macadam. 

He  did  not  recognize  Matthew  Armour  till  he  came  quite 
near.  The  stoop  of  the  shoulders  and  the  disfiguring  wire 
barnacles  which  shielded  the  Elder's  eyes  produced,  at 
first  sight,  a  strange  effect.  But  as  his  son-in-law  came 
up,  Matthew  Armour  took  the  latter  off  to  wipe  his  brow, 
and  stood  up  leaning  upon  his  hammer. 

Instantly  Mac  Walter  brought  his  horse  to  a  stand,  and 
set  himself  to  enjoy  the  sight. 


RULING    ELDER    AND    STONE-BREAKER   153 

"You  see  what  you  have  brought  upon  yourself.  Ar- 
mour/' he  said.  "I  warned  you  long  ago  that  if  you  did 
not  get  rid  of  that  brat  you  would  live  to  repent  it." 

The  old  man  looked  Mac  Walter  in  the  face  with  even 
more  than  his  ancient  gravity  and  dignity.  "  Have  I  ever 
told  you  that  I  have  repented  that  which  I  did  ?"  he  said. 

Walter  MacWalter,  flushed  from  the  table,  laughed  a 
short,  scornful  laugh. 

"  I  think  your  occupation  shows  tiiat  you  cannot  do 
anything  else  !"  he  said. 

"  I  have  not  seen  the  righteous  forsaken,  nor  liis  seed 
begging  bread  !"  answered  Matthew  Armour,  lifting  his 
blue  bonnet,  and  letting  the  wind  wave  his  gray  locks. 

*'I  think  even  your  friend,  King  David,  would  have  ad- 
mitted that  breaking  stones  on  the  roadside  is  not  far  from 
it." 

'^It  is  so  very  far  from  it,  sir,"  returned  the  Elder, 
"that  I  desire  nothing  better  till  I  die,  than  to  be  able 
thus  to  provide  for  the  wants  of  those  who  are  dependent 
upon  me  !" 

"  If  you  had  been  reasonable  and  done  as  I  wished,  you 
might  have  lived  and  died  somewhat  more  comfortably  in 
the  house  of  Dornal  !"  said  his  son-in-law,  with  another 
quick  laugh.  As  the  old  man  did  not  answer  immediately 
he  proceeded  :  "  Perhaps  you  would  be  willing  to  have 
your  daughter  also  to  provide  for ;  she  is  welcome  to  go 
from  my  house  when  she  will  !" 

The  Elder  answered  him  with  a  grave,  sweet  directness. 

"Day  and  night  my  door  stands  open  for  her.  Even  as 
at  the  Dornal,  so  to  the  cot  which  God  has  given  me  to 
lay  my  head  in,  Lilias  Armour  may  come  Avhen  she  will. 
There  will  be  a  place  and  a  welcome  for  her." 

"Then  why  do  you  not  take  her  altogether,  as  you  have 
taken  the  boy  ?" 

"  Because,"  said  the  Elder,  "  a  woman's  duty  is  to  abide 
with  her  husband  while  she  may.     But  in  the  end,  if  she 


154  KIT    KENNEDY 

be  unequally  yoked,  and  there  is  no  remedy,  slie  may  re- 
turn to  her  father's  house." 

A  sudden  fierce  anger  burned  up  in  AValter  MacWalter. 
At  times  hatred  and  jealousy  made  him  almost  insane. 
Yet  it  was  not  that  he  loved  his  wife,  but  only  that  the 
boy.  Kit  Kennedy,  hurt  his  newly-born  pride  of  position 
and  consideration. 

"Hark  ye,  Armour,"  he  said  ;  ''you  have  thwarted  me 
when  you  might  have  met  me  fairly  as  man  to  man.  I 
might  have  made  something,  too,  of  the  boy.  I  would 
have  placed  him  on  a  training-ship  and  looked  after  him 
there.  But  you  kept  him  here,  in  this  place,  Avhere  all 
knew  his  mother  and  himself.  You  have  not  scrupled  to 
shame  me  before  my  neighbors.  I  tell  you  I  will  ruin  him 
sooner  or  later.  You  will  yet  live  to  see  him  even  as  that 
drunken  sot,  his  father,  who  was  lately  in  jail  for  theft. 
I  liave  brought  the  Kuling  Elder  from  independence  to — 
this.  I  will  also  bring  down  your  pride  in  this  boy.  You 
know  that  I  do  not  boast  without  being  able  to  perform." 

The  Elder  stood  still,  calmly  surveying  his  adversary, 

"  The  evil  as  well  as  the  good  is  in  God's  hand,  not  in 
yours,  Walter  MacWalter.  I  pray  that  these  threatenings 
come  not  home  to  your  own  door.  Sometimes  I  have  ob- 
served the  wicked  suddenly  stricken  to  the  ground,  when 
the  whole  world  was  filled  with  the  pride  of  his  shoutings. 
I  have  seen  the  worm  at  the  root  of  his  green  bay-tree  in  a 
moment  laid  bare.  Yea,  I  have  seen  the  wicked  perish 
from  the  earth,  quick  as  a  light  that  is  quenched  in  the 
sea  !" 

As  he  spoke  the  Euling  Elder  stood  suddenly  erect,  and 
pointed  eastward  to  the  sharp  turn  of  the  road,  where  it 
bridges  a  little  brooklet  which  furrows  the  brow  of  the 
heather. 

Palpitating  with  anger,  Walter  MacWalter  raised  his 
whip  to  strike.  But  the  old  man  did  not  move.  He  kept 
his  hand  outstretched,  pointing  down  the  road  as  if  he  saw 


liULING    ELDER    AND    STONE-BKEAKEK   155 

a  vision  rising  out  of  tlie  white  dust  of  the  highway.  And 
foi'  ;i  moment  Walter  MacAValter  paled  and  his  eyes  were 
compelled  to  the  same  spot.  He  stared  as  if  he  also  saw 
somewhat,  and  was  stricken  cold  at  the  sight.  Then  he 
leaped  from  his  horse. 

"  You  threaten  me,"  he  cried  ;  ''not  even  your  age  shall 
protect  you.  I  have  borne  much  from  you  and  yours.  I 
will  bear  no  more.'' 

And  with  his  bridle  on  his  left  arm  he  advanced  upon 
the  old  man,  who  stood  motionless  as  he  came  nearer.  His 
eyes  glared  like  those  of  a  wild  beast,  his  purple  face  was 
injected,  and  his  fist  clinched  to  strike. 

''Why  should  not  I  throttle  you,  Matthew  Armour,"  he 
cried,  "and  throw  your  carcass  in  the  loch  ?" 

"Because you  are  afraid  of  the  justice  of  mau,"  said  the 
Elder,  calmly,  "and  because  the  Almighty  holds  your 
hand  !" 

"  Then  in  spite  of  both  the  law  and  your  friend  the  Al- 
mighty I  will  thrash  you  like  a  dog ;  I  have  borne  more 
than  enough  !"  cried  the  furious  bully. 

"  And  I  can  never  bear  enough  because  that  I  was  so 
blinded  as  to  give  my  daughter  to  such  a  man  !"  said  the 
Elder,  with  quiet  incision. 

The  hand  of  the  assailant  was  drawn  back,  his  face  was 
set  for  the  stroke,  but  yet  he  did  not  strike.  For  out  of  a 
bush  of  broom  rose  a  tall,  gaunt  figure,  and  the  shining 
muzzle  of  a  pistol  looked  coldly  into  the  face  of  the  Elder's 
adversary.     It  was  the  tramp. 

"Stand  back,  Walter  MacWalter  !"  he  said,  with  some 
of  his  old  distinctiou  of  manner.  "  I  was  silent  before  you 
once  for  another's  sake  in  the  parlor  of  the  Red  Lion.  But, 
by  Heaven,  I  will  not  be  silent  now  !  Stand  back,  I  say ! 
For  at  least  /  have  no  fear  of  being  hung  !"' 

So  the  three  men  stood  for  several  seconds,  Matthew 
Armour  leaning  on  his  stonebreaker's  hammer,  MacWalter 
with  his  arm  drawn  tense  to  strike,  and  the  ex-prisoner  and 


150  KIT    KENNEDY 

classical  master  with  his  pistol  pointed  at  the  head  of  his 
enemy. 

It  was  the  last  of  these  three  who  spoke  first.  He 
dropped  his  weapon  to  his  side  and  laughed  a  little  scorn- 
fully. 

"But  I  know  well  that  you  will  not  strike,"  he  said. 
'MValter  MacWalter  only  strikes  behind  men's  backs  — 
as  you  struck  at  me  years  ago  when  first  you  came  from 
Sandhaven,  as  lately  you  have  struck  at  Matthew  Armour 
from  behind  your  friend  the  factor." 

The  laird  of  Kirkoswald  and  Dornal  glared  savagely  at 
his  former  rival. 

"My  man/'  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  calmness,  "you 
forget  that  I  am  a  magistrate,  and  that  I  can  soon  have 
you  back  where  you  came  from — and  that  is  in  the  prison 
of  Kirkcudbright." 

"  But  you  will  not,"  said  the  tramp,  coolly. 

"  And  what  is  there  to  hinder  me  ?"  he  retorted.  "  Mat- 
thew Armour  here  shall  bear  witness  that  you  threatened 
my  life  Avith  a  pistol.  The  Sheriff  knows  what  reason  you 
have  to  hate  me." 

"I  know  that  Matthew  Armour  would  bear  true  witness 
were  it  against  himself,"  said  the  tramp,  "but  yet  you  will 
not  imt  me  again  in  prison." 

"And  wherefore,  pray  ?" 

The  tramp  leaned  nearer  to  MacWalter  and  uttered  a 
few  words  in  a  low  tone. 

"Because  of  Mary  Bisset!"  he  said. 


CHArTER   XXII 

THE    TWO    TEUANTS 

Kit  Kennedy  was  jilaying  truant.  The  fact  is  sad,  but 
it  must  not  be  blinked.  It  was  a  glorious  day  in  June,  and 
the  water  of  Loch  Grenoch  basked  blue  and  warm  in  the 
eighteen-hour-long  sunshine.  Also  Royal  was  with  him, 
his  great  red  collie,  whose  left-hand  connection  with  the 
laird  of  Crae's  Newfoundland  was  suspected  on  strong  pre- 
sumptive and  circumstantial  evidence.  Eoyal,  hoAvever, 
like  most  mixed  races,  Avas  of  a  joyous  disposition,  and 
questions  of  pedigree  did  not  trouble  him.  That  he  should 
have  a  blue-blooded  Newfoundland  or  another  to  his  father 
was  all  the  same  to  Royal.  He  had  even  been  known  to 
'*'  down  "  his  putative  parent  on  the  open  street  of  Whinny- 
liggate  and  to  take  unfilialtoll  of  his  ear,  for  the  first  com- 
mandment with  promise  is  not  of  any  canine  accejitation. 

This  day,  however,  he  had  assuredly  led  Kit  Kennedy 
astray.  The  boy  had  left  the  cottage  in  the  wood  in  the 
most  meek  and  obedient  frame  of  mind.  He  even  ran  over 
the  multiplication  table  as  far  as  nine  times  nine  so  quickly 
that  it  sounded  like  the  gurring  of  a  sewing-machine  in 
rapid  action.  It  was  no  use  going  further,  for  ten,  eleven, 
and  twelve  times  are  too  easy  to  be  required  seriously  of 
babes,  Avhile  thirteen  times  is  impossible  even  to  chartered 
accountants. 

Kit  proceeded  as  far  as  the  road  end  of  Crae  before  let- 
ting his  good  intentions  falter.  This  Avas  the  precise  dis- 
tance that  Betty  Landsborough's  sugar  "  piece  "  lasted  him. 


158  KIT    KENNEDY 

Mistress  Armour  did  not  aj)prove  of  spoiling  boys,  and 
would  have  sent  Kit  ofl;  empty-handed.  But  Betty  thought 
otherwise.  She  continued  the  pLan  of  Kit's  mother  on  his 
first  day  of  school,  and  her  foolish  extravagance  was  con- 
nived at  by  Matthew  the  Elder. 

So  every  morning  Avhen  Kit  set  out  for  Whinnyliggate 
— that  is,  every  day  except  Saturday  and  Sunday — Betty 
spread  a  scone  with  butter,  and  upon  the  butter,  with  no 
illiberal  hand,  she  showered  a  coating  of  sugar,  thick, 
brown,  and  gritty  as  the  desert  of  Sahara.  To  Kit's  un- 
sophisticated palate  the  combination  constituted  the  food 
on  Avhich  angels  grew  their  wings. 

But  at  the  end  of  the  little  straight  avenue,  which  led 
from  the  cottage  door  to  the  pine-edged  road,  the  tempter 
was  lying  in  wait.  Royal,  whose  position  in  the  family  Avas 
now  purely  supernumerary,  had  vanished  from  the  green 
in  front  upon  the  first  appearance  of  Kit  Kennedy  at  the 
door  with  Betty,  who  was  concealing  the  sugar  piece  nnder 
her  apron  from  Mistress  Armour,  while  that  shrewd  lady 
occupied  a  position  of  observation  in  the  rear. 

So  at  the  end  of  the  road  Eoyal  waited  on  his  prey. 

Kit  caught  sight  of  him  and  whistled  ]03^ously.  The  dog 
curved  his  tail  and  came  bounding  up  to  the  boy  to  beg  for 
"  scone."  He  had  had  his  breakfast,  and  he  privately  de- 
spised sugar,  except  perhaps  in  lumps  and  of  the  best  white 
quality. 

But  he  wanted  Kit  Kennedy  to  come  down  and  play  with 
him  on  the  lochside.  And  so,  as  Kit  himself  would  have 
said,  Royal  "let  on"  to  like  it. 

Tiie  tempter  gambolled  in  front,  barking  joyously.  He 
said  as  plain  as  print,  "  Now  then,  we're  off  !  Hurrah  for 
the  Avater  !" 

But  for  awhile — for  at  least  as  much  as  a  quarter  of  an 
hour — Kit  manfully  resisted.  By  that  time  a  considerable 
distance  had  been  put  between  the  cottage  and  the  way- 
farers.    The  loch  was  very  blue  beneath.     The  little  waves 


THE    TWO    TRUANTS  159 

sparkled  distnictingly.  The  wind  waved  the  yellow  broom 
in  a  way  it  really  ought  not  to.  The  universe  Avas  ill- 
arranged  for  a  small  boy  attending  school  that  day. 

Kit  thought  of  the  hot  and  breathless  schoolroom  at 
Whinnyliggate,  of  Duncan  Duncanson  and  his  leathern 
taws  (not  that  he  cared  much  for  those — he  would  back  his 
granny's  palm  against  them  any  day),  the  smell  of  spilled 
ink,  the  mussy,  gritty  slates  and  smutty  copy-books,  the 
bouquet  of  crowded  and  perspiring  village  childhood,  the 
buzz  of  flies,  the  infrequency  of  so  much  as  a  wasp  in  a 
girFs  class  by  Avay  of  entertainment.  And — well,  he  fol- 
lowed Eoyal  down  to  the  edge  of  the  loch. 

He  would  stay  just  a  minute — not  more.  He  could  easily 
make  it  up.  He  knew  he  could.  He  had  started  early  that 
morning.  And  Eoyal  would  be  so  disappointed.  Sec  how 
he  ran  on  before,  saying  "■  Come  along.  I  want  a  swim. 
And  I  know  where  there  is  a  lovely  stick  for  you  to  throw 
in  !" 

And  so  Kit  succumbed  to  temptation,  telling  himself 
(like  certain  wiser  and  older  people  who  shall  be  nameless) 
that  it  was  only  this  once,  and  just  to  see  what  it  Avas  like. 

"  SjJiash!"  went  Eoyal  into  the  water,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  stick,  his  head  rising  and  falling  steadily  Avith  the  poAver 
of  his  mighty  chest -strokes  and  the  lift  of  the  little  in- 
coming Avaves.  "Jerh!^'  he  had  it,  Avitli  a  sna]3  of  the  jaAVS 
and  a  snort  to  clear  his  Avindpijie  of  the  Avater  he  could  not 
swallow.  He  Avas  coming  back  hand  over  hand.  Now  lie 
touched  ground,  and  his  back  appeared  above  the  loch. 
Eoyal  scorned  to  pretend  he  Avas  sAvimming  when  his  feet 
Avere  upon  the  bottom.  Kit  respected  him  for  this.  He 
Avas  not  always  so  conscientious  himself.  Who  is.  at  the 
age  of  eleven,  if  it  comes  to  that  ? 

"Stand  clear  all!  Shake T  The  crystal  drops  flashed 
every  Avay  as  Eoyal  dropped  the  stick  and  stood  ready  again. 
Head  a  little  forAvard,  logs  fixed  on  hair  springs,  eyes  in- 
tently Avatching  Kit's  hand  as  he  lifted  the  Avet  branch,  tail 


160  KIT    KENNEDY 

switching  a  little  nervily — it  was  high  summer  time  with 
Eoyal  Armour. 

"  Ouch!  Get  on/'  he  said  in  his  own  language,  "don't 
keep  me  waiting.  I  can't  bear  it.  If  you  knew  how  nice  it 
was  in  the  water,  you  wouldn't  like  to  stop  out  here  either." 

Kit  swung  the  branch  over  his  head,  but  instead  of  throw- 
ing it  far  into  the  water,  he  flung  it  up  the  green  back  with 
a  great  heave  into  the  waving  broom  on  the  slope.  Then  he 
laughed  heartlessly. 

Royal  gave  him  one  look — contempt  mingled  with  a  most 
painful  surprise. 

"  Et  tu,  Brute!"  he  remarked,  plain  as  Csesarat  the  foot 
of  Pompey's  statue. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !"  laughed  Kit. 

"  Ouch!"  snorted  Eoyal,  in  quite  a  different  key,  with  his 
nose  in  the  air,  as  who  would  say,  "Ha  !  ha  !  Aren't  you 
funny  ?" 

Then  he  went  slowly  and  without  joyousness  up  the  hill. 
With  a  grave  submission  he  brought  the  branch  back  and 
dropped  it  in  dejected  fashion  at  Kit's  feet. 

"1  wouldn't  have  expected  this  from  you,"  he  said,  re- 
proachfully. ' '  You  treat  me  as  if  I  were  not  more  than  half  a 
water  dog.   And  the  nicest  half  of  me,  too,  on  a  day  like  this!" 

Whereat  being  sliame-stricken,  Kit  again  cast  the  branch 
into  the  clear  brown  water  of  the  loch — clear,  that  is,  but 
with  a  little  amber  in  its  depths  decocted  from  the  peat 
bogs  at  its  upper  end  and  from  the  green  water  meadows 
of  Dornal  and  Crae. 

It  looked  so  cool  that  in  a  trice  Kit  had  off  his  clothes, 
and  he  and  Royal  were  tumbling  hither  and  thither  in  a 
wild  wrestle  about  the  sandy  shallows.  The  crystal  drops 
flew  every  way.  Laughter  and  splashings  were  mingled 
with  joyous  barking.  The  sun  shown  down  Avith  a  broad 
grin  upon  the  pleasant  saturnalia. 

Kit  could  swim  a  little.  Geordie  Elphinstone  had  taught 
him  the  breast  stroke,  but  it  was  pleasanter  and  more  in- 


THE    TWO    TRUANTS  IGl 

teresting  to  wrestle  near  the  shore  with  Royal,  because  at 
swimming  he  had  no  chance,  whereas  near  the  beach  he 
was  on  more  equal  terms.  The  sun  poured  down  upon  his 
white  glistening  body.  He  shouted  aloud  in  the  young 
gladness  of  his  heart.  Duty,  school-masters,  lesson-books 
hid  under  broad  stones,  hours  of  exits  and  entrances,  leath- 
ern taws  and  the  moral  law,  were  all  alike  forgotten. 

"  Ouch — let's  have  another  V  barked  Royal,  lumbering 
outwards  like  a  great  pot-walloping  elephant  through  the 
shallows  to  become  instantly  perfectly  graceful  in  the 
amber  deeps,  "come  and  have  another!"  And  Kit  went. 
The  water  was  still  chillish,  for  it  was  early  in  the  year. 
But  the  violence  of  the  exercise  and  the  racing  of  the  young 
blood  through  his  veins  kept  Kit  warm  for  the  better  part 
of  an  hour. 

Then  he  began  to  think  of  putting  on  his  clothes.  He 
waded  ashore,  feeling  as  the  water  fell  away  from  him  and 
the  fanning  wind  blew,  as  if  he  had  left  part  of  himself  be- 
hind in  the  water.  He  wished  he  had  kept  his  sugar  piece 
till  now. 

"  Oiiff — oitffr  barked  Royal  behind  him,  "  call  yourself 
a  swimmer  and  going  out  already — look  at  me !" 

And  the  doubtful  Newfoundland  pushed  right  across  the 
loch  for  the  woods  on  the  farther  side. 

"  Oh,  no  doubt,"  said  Kit  in  reply,  turning  to  watch  him, 
"  it's  very  easy  for  you,  staying  in  the  water  with  all  that 
hair  on.    Try  it  in  your  bare  skin  and  see  how  you  like  it." 

Then  he  held  up  his  foot  to  try  how  it  felt  to  have  the 
water  run  between  his  toes.  This  proved  interesting  with 
the  right  foot,  so  Kit  repeated  the  operation  on  the  left. 
A  little  shiver  of  cold  began  to  strike  downward  along  his 
spine.  He  would  put  on  his  clothes.  Where  were  they  ? 
Oh,  yes,  he  remembered,  behind  that  broom  bush  on  the 
bank.  He  sprang  up  the  short  turf  and  rounded  the  wav- 
ing green  and  gold  of  the  obstacle. 

There  sat  his  mother  beside  them. 
11 


CHAPTER  XXIIl 

kit's  eyes  are  opened 

Kit  stopped  abashed  and  ashamed.  There  is,  doubtless, 
a  disembodied  moral  law,  a  spiritual  essence  of  right  some- 
where in  the  air  about  us,  but  we  seldom  let  it  alight  on 
us  till  it  comes  in  human  guise.  We  rather  shoo  it  off  like 
a  troublesome  fly. 

Kit  Kennedy  remembered  for  the  first  time  that  he  ought 
to  have  gone  to  school. 

"  Kit,"  said  Lilias  Mac  Walter,  with  sad  directness,  "  you 
are  playing  truant !" 

'*  Yes,"  said  Kit,  hanging  his  head,  and  standing  mean- 
while like  a  spare  young  Apollo  erect  before  his  mother. 
The  moral  law  had  alighted  now. 

There  was  a  basket  by  his  mother's  side  covered  with  a 
white  napkin.  She  had  been  on  her  way  to  meet  Heather 
Jock  and  his  donkey  as  he  passed  along  the  highway,  that 
he  might  take  it  to  the  Crae  Cottage.  She  had  not  seen 
her  father  or  her  mother  for  many  months. 

Without  saying  a  word  Lilias  took  the  napkin  from  the 
basket,  and  calling  Kit  to  her  she  began,  with  strange 
thrills  and  upleapings  of  her  mother's  heart,  \o  rub  some 
warmth  into  the  boy's  chilled  limbs.  She  had  not  done  so 
much  since  he  was  a  little  lad  of  three  years  old.  This 
made  her  glad  that  she  had  chanced  upon  him  that  morn- 
ing, though  she  meant  to  speak  seriously  to  the  boy  all  the 
same.  For  the  space  of  five  long  minutes  both  were  silent, 
the  tears  welling  up  in  the  woman's  averted  eyes,  and  the 


KIT'S    EYES    ARE    OPENED  163 

boy  casting  about  for  some  non-committal  subject  of  con- 
versation. 

Then,  garment  by  garment,  she  helped  him  on  with  his 
clothes,  till  he  stood  completely  arrayed  before  her. 

Eoyal  had  swum  and  barked,  and  barked  and  swum  be- 
tween the  deeps  and  the  shallows  ever  since  Kit's  deser- 
tion. But  now  he  came  up  the  bank,  sheepishly  wagging 
his  lank  wet  tail,  keeping  meanwhile  one  eye  on  the  inten- 
tions of  Lilias's  hand  and  one  on  her  uncovered  basket. 

"Kit,"  said  his  mother,  gravely,  ''sit  down.  I  want  to 
speak  to  you." 

Much  subdued  Kit  sat  down.  He  wished  that  he  had 
been  suffering  under  Dominie  Duncanson's  taws  instead. 
But  he  sat  meekly  down  as  he  was  bidden. 

Royal  settled  himself  upon  his  haunches  a  few  yards  be- 
low on  a  spit  of  broiling  shingle,  cocking  his  ears  alternate- 
ly at  these  inexplicable  humans,  who  on  such  a  morning 
preferred  the  land  to  the  water,  and,  having  a  basket  of 
delicacies  such  as  he  could  see  plainly  with  his  nose,  went 
on  making  foolish  noises  with  their  mouths.  Royal  could 
have  shown  them  a  better  use  for  these  last. 

"  Kit/'  said  his  mother,  "  I  have  been  thinking  for  a  long 
while  that  you  are  old  enough  to  be  told  what  is  before  you. 
You  are  nearly  eleven,  and  older  than  most  boys  of  twelve 
or  fourteen.  I  did  not  mean  to  trouble  you  yet,  for  Mr. 
Duncanson  says  that  you  are  doing  well  at  school.  But 
now  I  must  speak.  Y^ou  are  getting  wild  and  playing 
truant.  I  will  not  rage  upon  you.  Kit.  I  will  only  tell 
you  that  if  you  go  on  in  the  way  you  are  doing  you  will 
break  your  mother's  heart." 

"  Oh,  mitlier  !"  cried  Kit,  tears  springing  into  eyes  which 
would  not  have  been  wet  for  the  best  whijjping  that  Dun- 
can Duncanson  could  have  given,  "  I  forgot.  I  did  not 
mean  to — at  least,  I  didna  ken  ye  were  comin'  this  road." 

"No,"  said  his  mother,  gently,  "that  is  just  it.  Y"ou 
did  not  think  ;  you  did  not  mean  any  wrong.     Y^ou   did 


104  KIT    KENNEDY 

not  expect  to  be  found  out.     That  is  exactly  the  Way  to 
break  a  mother's  heart." 

Kit  hung  his  head.     The  moral  law  was  biting  steadily 

now. 

"  Kit,"  she  went  on,  after  a  pause  of  strengthening  si- 
lence and  upward  appeal,  ''  Kit,  laddie  mine,  I  want  you 
to  be  a  good  man,  a  true  man.  I  think  you  will  be  a  clever 
man — you  have  it  in  you.  Listen,  Kit.  Once  I  knew  a 
very  clever  man — not  a  bad  man,  but  one  who,  like  you, 
did  not  think,  did  not  mean,  did  not  care,  so  long  as  he 
was  not  found  out.  Kit,  your  mother  v/ould  have  been 
the  happiest  woman  in  the  world  if  that  man  had  thought, 
had  meant,  had  remembered.  But— he  broke  my  heart  and 
made  my  life  a  living  death.  Now  my  heart  grows  alive 
again  to  look  at  you.  But,  oh  !  Kit,  I  see  something  of 
that  man  in  you.  1  would  rather  see  you  lie  dead  before 
me  than  that  you  should  break  any  woman's  heart  as  that 
man  broke  mine  !" 

"  Was  he  my  father  ?"  asked  Kit,  in  a  low  awed  tone, 
not  looking  at  his  mother,  but  down  at  the  loch,  which 
somehow  seemed  suddenly  to  have  grown  misty  and  far 

away. 

"  He  was  your  father,"  said   the  woman   Lilias,  very 

softly. 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them  twain,  so  long 
that  Royal  dropped  his  head  and  pretended  to  go  to  sleep. 

"  Is  he  dead,  mither  ?"  said  Kit  at  last,  the  realities  of 
life  humming  in  his  ears  and  making  his  heart  like  chill 
water  within  him, 

"  No,  he  is  not  dead,"  said  Lilias  Mac  Walter,  her  face 
looking  ashen  gray  and  drawn  in  the  insolent  optimism  of 
the  morning  sunshine. 

Kit  thought  a  while,  and  then  said,  with  an  indignant 
ring  in  his  voice,   "  How  you  must  hate  him,  mither  !'^ 

There  was  a  little  rustling  beyond  the  dyke  in  the  broom 
into  which  Kit  had  thrown  the  stick.     A  thrush  which 


KIT'S    EYES    ARE    OPENED  165 

had  flown  in  as  if  to  visit  its  nest  flow  out  again,  "  cherk- 
ing  "  crossly. 

His  mother  did  not  answer,  so  Kit  repeated  his  words : 
"How  you  must  hate  that  man,  mither  !" 

With  eyes  pulsing  and  misty,  like  the  sky  over  the  North- 
ern sea  where  the  ice  floats,  Lilias  replied.  She  did  not 
sigh — sighing  is  for  hopeful  people  who  are  only  tempora- 
rily unhappy.  But  this  woman  was  hoj)eless,  expectation- 
less,  convicted  on  a  life  sentence  from  which  she  did  not 
mean  to  appeal. 

"Hate  him  —  no.  I  do  not  hate  that  man,  Kit,"  she 
said,  slowly,  but  very  distinctly.  "  Kather,  God  forgive 
him  and  me  —  I  love  him  still.  For  a  woman  who  once 
loves  truly.  Kit,  as  I  loved  your  father,  there  is  in  this  life 
no  escape,  no  hope.  I  do  not  know  about  the  next.  At 
any  rate  she  loves  to  the  end.  You  do  not  understand. 
Nor  can  any  man  fully  understand.  Like  a  wasp  that  is 
crushed  a  man  turns  to  sting  that  wliicli  hurts  him.  But 
when  a  woman  is  bruised,  wounded  to  the  death,  ground 
to  poAvder,  if  the  heel  be  the  heel  of  the  man  she  loves,  it 
cannot  grind  the  great  love  out  of  her  heart.  Such  love  as 
this,  Kit,  does  not  come  at  will.  It  does  not  go  at  bid- 
ding. It  is  there,  Kit.  You  do  not  nnderstand.  You 
never  will  wholly,  for  yon  are  a  man.  But  that  is  the 
truth.  God  has  made  woman  so  that  because  I  loved  that 
man  once  I  must  love  him  always  !" 

The  relieving  tears  welled  up  silently  in  the  gray-blue 
eyes.  There  they  stood  for  a  moment  like  water  in  an 
over-full  glass  held  by  a  sort  of  surface  tension.  Then 
they  ran  slowly  over  and  dripped  unheeded  one  by  one 
upon  her  lap.     One  fell  on  Kit's  hand.     It  was  warm. 

"  Oh,  mither,  dinna  !"  he  cried,  agonized,  snatching  his 
hand  away  with  the  swift  intolerance  of  youth  for  mental 
suffering — an  unknown  and  foolish  thing  to  healthy  child- 
hood. 

"  Do  you  love  Walter  Mac  Walter  ?"  said  Kit,  presently, 


166  KIT    KENNEDY 

with  the  remorseless  curiosity  of  yonth,  whose  inquiries 
sometimes  sting  like  lashes,  sometimes  cut  like  knives. 

Lilias  started  at  his  words.  She  formed  her  lips  for 
some  vehement  answer.  But  it  was  unspoken.  The  fire 
that  leaped  into  her  eyes  died  out  as  swiftly.  For  a  space 
she  was  silent,  and  when  she  spoke  it  was  in  a  low,  even, 
colorless  voice. 

''No  !"  she  said,  "1  do  not  love  Walter  MacWalter." 

"  Did  you  never  love  him  ?"  j)ursued  pitiless  youth. 

"  I  never  loved  him  !" 

"  Then  why  did  you  marry  him  ?" 

In  all  her  life's  trials  Lilias  never  had  to  endure  (save 
once)  any  moment  so  terrible  as  this. 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  a  pulsing  check  rose  rebelliously 
in  her  throat,  and  she  stammered  like  a  speaker  who  has 
suddenly  forgotten  his  next  sentence. 

"Kit  —  Kit!  Oh,  Kit,"  she  gasped,  "you  are  cruel. 
My  lad — my  lad — but  you  do  not  mean  to  be.  I  will  tell 
you — yes,  you  shall  know.  I  married  Walter  MacWalter 
because  I  thought  my  heart  was  dead — because  of  the  man, 
your  father.  I  thought  he  did  not  love  me,  that  he  had 
deceived  me.  My  mother  said,  '  Marry  the  man  for  your 
father's  sake.  The  debt  crushes  him  to  the  ground.  He 
is  a  good  man.  Love  will  come  afterwards.^  I  did  wrong. 
Kit,  I  sinned  against  love.  But  do  not  hate  me,  Kit.  I 
will  die  if  you  hate  me.  I  have  gotten  so  little  out  of  life 
— I  who  expected  so  much.  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should 
hate  me.  Kit.     At  least,  I  have  not  deserved  that." 

The  boy  felt  the  tears  well  up  in  his  own  eyes.  He  did 
not  understand.  He  could  not.  Yet  Lilias  was  wise,  for 
the  effort  to  understand  made  a  deeper  impression  on  Kit's 
mind  than  if  he  had  understood  all.  The  mystery  of  suf- 
fering sobered  him.  He  grew  older  and  wiser  each  mo- 
ment. By  instinct  this  woman  had  reached  the  truth  that 
to  make  children  trust  you,  you  must  appeal  to  their  un- 
derstandings as  well  as  to  their  hearts. 


KIT'S    EYES    ARE    OPENED  167 

Kit  Kennedy  reached  his  hand  across  to  his  mother  and 
laid  it  on  hers.  She  took  her  left  hand  and  gently  patted 
it.     Then  she  went  on  again. 

"My  boy,"  she  said,  "I  did  wrong.  I  sinned  against 
love.  But  I  have  been  punished,  and  God,  I  think,  looks 
upon  it  so.  'Whom  He  lovetli  lie  chasteneth.'  I  heard 
Mr.  Osborne  say  it.  But  not  as  if  he  knew  it.  Not  as  I 
know  it.  If  I  have  sinned  greatly  I  have  also  been  greatly 
punished,  and  God  does  not  exact  the  penalty  in  both 
worlds.  Kit,  be  a  good  man.  Be  true.  Speak  the  truth 
and  take  the  consequences.  If  yon  do  wrong,  as  you  will, 
stand  np  to  the  punishment.  Kit,  do  not  run  from  trouble, 
as — as  he  did.  If  he  had  remained  God  knows  how  proud- 
ly, how  gladly  I  would  have  stood  by  his  side — aye,  through 
disgrace,  penury,  and  death.  But  he  was  afraid  and  went 
away.  Oh,  Kit,  do  not  flinch,  stand  up  to  the  storm,  and 
be  sure  that  the  woman  who  loves  you  will  stand  beside 
you.  I  tell  you  her  heart  will  be  proud  and  rejoicing  be- 
cause she  knows  it  is  done  for  the  man  she  loves  !" 

A  rabbit  or  some  wild  thing  stirred  in  the  broom  bush. 
Kit  turned  his  head  quickly,  but  saw  nothing. 

Having  spoken  out,  Lilias  MacWalter's  heart  Avas  hap- 
pier than  it  had  been  for  years.  The  burden  was  eased. 
An  unseen  hand  seemed  to  lift  it  from  her  shoulders. 

"  You  do  not  hate  me  for  this.  Kit  ?"  she  said,  with  a 
yearning  pitiful ness  in  her  eyes. 

The  boy  sobbed  one  great  sob,  felt  his  face  go  cold,  and 
then  fell  on  his  mother's  neck. 

"Mither  !"  was  all  he  said. 

And  from  the  heart  of  Lilias,  the  sinned-against,  the 
year-long  pain  ebbed  away. 

It  was  some  time  before  these  two  friends  found  artic- 
ulate words  again.  When  they  did  it  was  the  woman  who 
began  to  speak  in  a  hushed  tone.  Kit  had  forgotten  his 
eleven  years,  his  adult  superiority,  his  dignity  of  man.     He 


168  KIT    KENNEDY 

lay  with  his  head  on  his  mother's  breast.  She  kissed  his 
hair  and  brow  as  often  as  she  would.  And  that  was  not 
seldom.  God  did  not  grudge  her  this  season  and  slowed 
the  universe  to  make  it  longer.  He  had  done  as  much  for 
Joshua  upon  a  less  important  occasion.  But  overhead  a 
dark  and  threatening  cloud  drew  down  from  the  Girthon 
Hills,  thunder  brooding  within  its  blue-black  bosom. 

"Kit,"  the  woman  said,  gently,  ''you  are  a  clever  boy. 
I  want  you  to  be  something  in  the  world.  I  am  sure  you 
can  be  if  you  like.  For  your  mother's  sake,  try.  Yon  must 
do  it  for  yourself.  I  cannot  help  you.  Your  grandfather 
and  grandmother  are  too  poor  to  aid  you.  You  must  help 
yourself.  I  do  not  want  you  to  be  only  a  ploughman. 
There  is  more  in  you  than  that.  Only  remember  that 
mere  money-making  is  nothing,  Kit ;  I  want  you  to  be  a 
scholar,  like  your  father.  But  with  the  strength  he  had 
not.  Perhaps  one  day,  who  knows,  God  may  repent  Him 
of  the  evil.  No,  I  must  not  think  of  it.  It  is  impossible !" 
She  paused,  and  was  silent  a  long  while. 

Kit  did  not  interrupt  or  ask  any  questions  this  time. 
He  was  pillowed  contentedly  under  his  mother's  chin.  He 
liked  it — when  he  was  sure  that  no  one  could  see  him. 
Also  he  was  forming  great  resolves  within  him.  For  a  boy 
of  eleven  can  make  resolves — and  sometimes  keep  them 
better  than  a  man  of  forty. 

"Mither,  I  am  going  to  be  a  great  man,"  said  the  re- 
formed truant.  And  even  as  he  spoke  there  came  a  vivid 
flash,  and  the  thunder  broke  above  in  sonorous  mirth  at 
Kit's  daring ! 

"All  right,  we'll  see!"  said  Kit  Kennedy,  leaping  up  and 
shaking  his  fist  at  the  elements. 


CHArTER  XXIV 

KIT    BEGI]SrS   TO    BE    A    GREAT  MAN 

Heedless  of  the  rain  Kit  went  off  to  school,  much  be- 
lated, but  jubilant  in  his  heart.  He  saw  life  before  him 
now,  and  he  meant,  as  his  mother  had  bidden  him,  to 
stand  up  to  it. 

He  made  a  beginning  by  standing  np  to  the  conse- 
quences of  his  truantry  in  the  shape  of  the  frown  on  the 
brow  of  Duncan  Duncanson,  deposed  minister  and  school- 
master in  the  parish  of  Whinnyliggate. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  sir  ?"  demanded  the  stern  peda- 
gogue. He  had  had  a  "cast  out"  with  his  daughter 
Flora  that  morning  on  the  subject  of  going  to  the  Eed 
Lion  with  a  black  bag  which  contained  an  empty  bottle. 

"  I  have  been  swimming  in  the  loch  with  my  dog  Roy- 
al," said  Kit,  calmly.     He  had  learned  his  lesson. 

The  dominie  could  not  believe  his  ears.  Denial  of  im- 
puted iniquity  Avas  so  much  the  rule  in  Whinnyliggate 
school  that  any  other  course  was  paralyzing.  Something 
must  be  concealed  under  such  superfluous  candor. 

'' Wha — at  !"  cried  Duncan  Duncanson,  lifting  the  taws 
threateningly. 

"  I  have  been  swimming  in  the  loch  with  my  dog  Royal," 
Kit  repeated.  His  head  not  yet  dry  testified  that  his  wit- 
ness was  true. 

"  Stand  out,"  cried  the  enraged  dominie,  snapping  the 
lid  of  his  desk. 

Thus  Kit  began  his  course  as  a  reformed  character  by 


170  KIT    KENNEDY 

enduring  without  wincing,  and  even  with  a  considerable 
amount  of  mental  satisfaction,  a  larger  number  of  ''paw- 
mies  "  than  had  ever  been  known  previously  even  to  the 
liberal  arithmetic  of  the  deposed  minister.  He  did  not 
feel  them  very  much,  and  when  the  master  had  exhausted 
himself,  Kit  still  further  astonished  the  school  by  still 
holding  out  his  hand  and  saying,  "  Is  that  a'  ?" 

"  Go  to  your  seat,  sir,"  thundered  the  master,  and  Kit 
went,  rubbing  the  palm  of  his  right  hand  against  that  of 
his  left,  Avith  an  appearance  of  enjoyment  which  made  him 
the  envy  of  every  boy  and  the  adoration  of  every  girl. 

Kit  sat  down  on  the  worn  '^form,"  and  glanced  at  the 
lesson-book  which  he  had  exhumed  on  his  way  to  school. 
He  knew  it  from  beginning  to  end.     An  idea  came  to  him. 

He  rose  from  his  seat  and  marched  straight  up  to  the 
master. 

Duncan  Duncanson  glared  at  him  in  amazed  surprise. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  he  thundered.  He  had  an  idea 
also.     He  thought  that  the  boy  was  outbraving  him. 

"If  ye  please,  sir,"  said  Kit,  whose  English  had  de- 
parted from  him  with  the  relaxation  of  the  tension,  "  I 
want  to  gang  into  the  'Coorse  o'  Eeadin'.'  I  ken  a'  that's 
in  MacCulloch's  'Series.'  It  is  silly  bairn's  book  onyway. 
I  dinna  care  to  gang  blatterin'  it  ower  and  ower  again. 
Let  me  gang  into  the  '  Coorse '  and  I  winna  troan  the 
schule  (play  truant)  for  a  year  !" 

"  You  are  too  young — far  too  young  for  the  '  Course,' " 
said  the  astonished  teacher,  scratching  his  head.  Marvels 
came  too  thick  that  morning. 

"  Try  me,"  said  Kit,  boldly  and  succinctly. 

Duncan  Duncanson  stared.  "Give  me  a  'Course  of 
Heading,'  somebody  !"  he  cried.  He  had  a  certain  respect 
for  that  fine  school-book,  and  felt  himself  personally  in- 
sulted (as  well  as  the  editorial  MacCulloch)  by  this  boy's 
insolent  request. 

"  And  if  you  fail,  the  licking  that  you  have  had  will  be 


KIT    BEGINS    TO    BE   A    GREAT    MAN   171 

child's  play  to  what  yon  will  get.  Make  your  count  with 
that,  my  clever  young  man." 

Kit  said  nothing  whatever  in  reply.  He  only  stretched 
out  his  hand  for  the  book. 

"Where  will  ye  hae  her  ?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Duncanson  pointed  out  a  lesson  in  which  the  prop- 
erties of  the  atmosphere  were  illustrated  with  a  wealth  of 
scientific  "jaw-breakers."  "Read!"  he  cried,  ferociously, 
and  he  tightened  his  fingers  about  a  hazel  stick  usually  re- 
served for  the  grown-up  youths  who  frequented  the  school 
in  winter.  He  felt  that  the  most  indurated  and  leaden- 
toed  "taws"  would  not  meet  the  case  if  Kit  so  much  as 
stumbled.  But  the  son  of  the  classical  master  had  a  nat- 
ural affinity  for  words.  Also  the  master  did  not  know  that 
there  was  an  old  copy  of  Johnson's  Dictionary  in  two  vol- 
umes bound  in  calf  that  Kit  considered  the  best  reading  in 
his  grandfather's  house,  and  the  transport  of  which  to  Crae 
Cottage  he  had  personally  superintended.  Therefore  the 
properties  of  oxygen  and  other  prolmbly  wholly  imaginary 
substances  concealed  no  terrors  for  him. 

The  master  listened,  at  first  with  surprise,  then  with  a 
wavering  tolerance,  lastly  with  a  rapidly  rising  admiration. 
But  he  could  not  give  in  before  the  school.  He  did  not 
believe  in  "cockering  up"  boys. 

"That  will  do,"  he  said,  austerely.  "  You  can  stand  up 
at  the  foot  of  the  '  Course '  class." 

Thus  was  Kennedy  promoted  to  the  highest  seats  in  the 
synagogue  for  having  gone  in  swimming  with  a  red  collie 
of  indifferent  character  and  more  than  doubtful  antece- 
dents. 

At  the  end  of  school  a  little  girl  came  up  to  Kit.  She 
was  sweet  of  face  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  compassion. 

"Did  it  hurt  much  ?"  she  asked. 

Kit  laughed.  "What  ?  Oh,  the  taws.  They  didna  hurt 
at  a'.  You  should  get  a  lickin'  frae  Granny  when  she  is 
doin'  hersel'  justice  !" 


172  KIT    KENNEDY 

"  I  think  you  are  very  brave  !"  she  said,  with  a  certain 
shyness  very  grateful  to  the  hero. 

Kit  thought  so  too,  but  he  was  not  going  to  confess  it 
to  a  mere  lassie.  "Yon's  naething/'  he  said,  modestly,  in 
an  off-hand  manner.  Then  he  added,  "'I  say,  lassie,  Avhat 
do  they  caa'  ye  ?" 

"My  name,"  said  the  girl,  "is  Mej^sie  Mac  Walter !" 

"  Do  ye  like  it  ?"  said  Kit,  looking  doubtfully  at  her. 

"Like  it — why  should  I  no  like  my  ain  name  ?"  said  the 
girl,  with  surprise.  She  was  a  year  or  two  older  than  Kit, 
which  of  course  made  her  praise  and  interest  much  more 
acceptable. 

"Weel,"  said  Kit,  "my  mither^s  name  is  MacWalter, 
noo,  and  I  dinua  think  she  likes  it  muckle." 

A  curious  light  shone  upon  the  girl's  face.  "Did  your 
mither  marry  my  uncle  Walter  MacAYalter  ?" 

Kit  looked  down  and  scrabbled  in  the  dust  with  his 
toe.  He  did  not  like  to  answer  that  question.  It  seemed 
like  betraying  his  mother's  confidence. 

"He  married  her  !"'  answered  Kit,  turning  the  corner  of 
the  question. 

The  girl  held  out  her  hand.  "  Then  I  like  her.  I  have 
come  to  stay  at  Kirkoswald  with  my  uncle  Walter.  But  I 
live  at  a  place  called  Loch  Spellanderie  V 

"  Lord — a'  that !"  said  Kit  Kennedy. 

Thus  it  chanced  that  our  hero,  having  set  out  to  play 
the  truant,  received  a  lesson  more  enduring  in  its  results 
than  any  he  had  ever  learned,  and  in  addition  obtained 
promotion  in  his  classes  —  all  which  convinced  him  that 
honesty  was  the  best  policy.  Besides  which  he  had  had  his 
swim  and  play  with  Royal  as  well.  A  still  further  blessing 
of  Providence  befell  him. 

The  alternate  shine  and  shower  which  began  with  the 
thunder  plump  at  the  lochside  had  settled  into  a  fixed  and 
determinate  downpour. 

At  first  sight  it  may  be  diflBcult  to  see  why  this  should 


KIT    BEGINS    TO    BE    A   GREAT    MAN   173 

be  classed  as  a  benefit.  But  to  Kit's  mind  the  matter  was 
very  clear.  For  had  he  remained  at  the  lochside  with 
Eoyal  instead  of  coming  on  to  school  and  getting  the  conse- 
quences well  over,  he  would  have  had  to  choose  between 
an  afternoon  in  the  rain  and  going  home  with  the  evidence 
of  his  truantry  rank  and  obvious  upon  him.  But  as  it 
was,  he  sat  talking  with  this  new  girl,  swinging  his  legs 
comfortably  over  the  ledge  of  a  window  in  the  school  dur- 
ing the  short  dinner-hour.  When  the  school  reassembled 
he  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  his  lessons  with  a  dili- 
gence which,  when  the  hour  of  recitation  arrived,  delivered 
boy  after  boy  and  girl  after  girl  into  his  hands.  Indeed, 
he  was  in  a  fair  way  of  '"^trapping"  his  way  to  the  head  of 
the  class,  when  all  unexpectedly  he  found  himself  beside 
Meysie  MacWalter. 

"  Dinna  '  trap  '  me,  or  I  will  never  speak  to  you  again  as 
long  as  I  live.  Besides,  I  shall  greet.  I  won't  be  taken 
down  by  a  boy  more  than  two  years  younger  than  me  I  I'm 
gangin'  awa'  hame  in  a  week,  so  then  ye  can  get  to  the 
head  o'  the  class." 

"A.'  richt,  lassie,"  said  Kit,  who  was  distinctly  preco- 
cious, ''it's  a'  richt.  I'll  tell  ye  if  ye  dinna  ken.  Auld 
Bottlenose  is  as  deaf  as  a  post." 

"  But  I  dinna  want  to  be  telled — I  want  to  ken  !"  said 
the  girl,  rebelliously. 

So  all  the  afternoon  Kit  prompted  the  young  lady,  and 
despite  her  protest — after  the  first  time,  when  another  girl 
passed  above  them  both — she  answered  when  in  doubt  ac- 
cording to  Kit's  instructions.  She  did  not,  of  course,  de- 
mean herself  by  showing  any  gratitude,  but  took  the  credit 
of  all  the  good  shots,  and  cast  upon  Kit  the  ignominy  of 
all  the  bad,  according  to  the  wont  of  her  sex  when  they  are 
becoming  conscious  of  their  power. 

"  Meysie  MacWalter  !"  said  Kit,  "what  an  awesome  funny 
name  ye  hae  gotten.  Whatever  garred  them  caa'  ye  that  ? 
Ye  maun  hae  been  broclit  up  in  a  verra  outlandishlike  place." 


174  KIT    KENNEDY 

''1  was  going  to  let  you  call  me  'May'  for  short,  but 
noo  I  winna.  You  are  not  a  nice  boy,  and  very  ignorant. 
You  let  Grace  Turner  get  above  me  for  spelling  'awry.'" 

"  It's  a  silly  word  ony  way,"  said  Kit,  scornfully.  "  What's 
the  use  o'  sayin'  '  awry '  when  ye  mean  twisted  ?  But  I'll 
caa'  ye  '  May'  whether  ye  let  me  or  no.     So  there  !" 

By  all  which  things  we  can  see  that  Kit  was  getting  on 
bravely  with  his  learning.  For  most  that  is  really  valuable 
in  a  man's  education  is  the  work  of  those  great  natural  wit- 
sharpeners,  women.  And  Kit  was  in  hands  with  four  of 
them,  his  grandmother,  his  mother,  Betty,  and  now  this 
tan-faced,  white-toothed,  sweet-eyed  schoolgirl.  Mistress 
Meysie  Mac  Walter  of  Loch  Spellanderie,  niece  to  his  arch- 
enemy, the  Laird  of  Kirkoswald. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A    BROKEN    HEART 

But  Kit  was  fated  to  have  yet  another  adventure,  and 
to  place  himself  the  second  time  under  the  sting  of  the 
moral  gadfly. 

It  chanced  that  his  strong  Uncle  Rob,  the  Avoodforester, 
had  come  down  that  morning  early  to  the  sawmill  in  the 
village  with  a  load  of  birchwood  to  be  transformed  into 
''bobbins"  and  ''pirns."  Rob  Armour  was  not  so  long 
out  of  his  own  schooldays,  at  least  in  the  winter  season, 
and  he  thought  of  the  prisoned  schoolboy  when  the  thun- 
der broke  over  the  village  and  the  first  plump  descended. 
He  looked  out  of  the  bobbin  mill  door,  and  said  to  him- 
self, "  It's  gaun  to  be  a  stormy  day.  I  declare  I'll  look  in 
at  the  schule  and  get  Dominie  Duncanson  to  let  the  wean 
aff.  I'll  gie  him  a  ride  hame,  and  he'll  no  be  vexed  to  win 
away  at  this  time  o'  the  day.  I  can  easy  mak'  it  a'  richt 
wi'  my  mither." 

So  as  he  was  driving  homeward  through  the  village  he 
went  round  by  the  school  and  asked  for  Kit  Kennedy. 

The  master  seemed  surprised. 

"He  has  not  been  here  to-day,"  said  Duncan  Duncan- 
son.  "  Perhaps  they  have  kept  him  at  home  to  help  with 
some  work." 

Rob  Armour  said  nothing,  because  he  did  not  wish  to 
get  Kit  into  further  trouble. 

But  within  him  he  said,  "  The  young  rascal  is  troanin' 
the  schule.     He'll  catch  it  when  he  gets  to  the  Crae." 


176  KIT    KENNEDY 

Then  he  drove  off,  missing  Kit  by  jnst  five  minutes. 
For  that  youth  had  taken  the  path  over  the  fields  as  a 
shorter  cut  through  the  rain. 

When  Kit  reached  home  that  night  he  came  in  with  the 
bright  smile  and  the  cheerful  countenance  of  one  whose 
mind  and  conscience  are  wholly  at  rest. 

But  he  had  hardly  looked  about  him  before  he  became 
aware  of  a  painful  chill  of  restraint  which  was  visible  upon 
every  face.  His  grandfather  sat  in  his  chair,  more  erect 
than  usual.  He  said  no  word  of  greeting,  and  Kit  cared 
more  for  that  than  for  his  grandmother's  most  voluble  an- 
gers. Kit  laid  down  his  bag  on  the  window-sill  with  a 
certain  dreary  foreboding  of  evil  to  come,  the  tin  flask 
echoing  emptily  in  it.  Then  he  went  to  the  white  wooden 
"  dresser,"  on  which  the  blue  delft  plates  were  arranged 
symmetrically,  to  get  his  evening's  drink  of  milk. 

Now  there  were  two  points  along  the  lochside  road  from 
Whinnyliggate  to  the  Black  Dornal  from  which  he  could 
see  the  chimneys  of  his  home.  And  Kit  being  a  boy  full 
of  all  manner  of  sentiment,  a  connoisseur  ,in  sensations 
even  before  his  teens,  always  climbed  to  the  top  of  the 
bank  to  look  at  them.  That  is  as  he  was  returning  from 
school.  On  the  outward  journey  the  prospect  of  milk  on 
the  dresser  was  too  remote  to  come,  as  it  were,  within  the 
sphere  of  practical  politics.  He  called  these  vista-heights 
Pisgah  and  the  Delectable  Mountains. 

"  It  will  hae  turned  wi'  the  thunder,"  he  observed  by 
way  of  breaking  the  painful  silence  as  he  stood  at  the 
"dresser."  Then  a  sharp  voice,  surely  not  that  of  his 
grandmother,  told  him  curtly  to  "stand  away  frae  there  !" 

Kit  was  excessively  astonished.  He  knew  in  a  moment 
that  something  was  very  far  wrong,  and  in  his  whirling 
mind  he  ran  over  the  catalogue  of  his  most  recent  misde- 
meanors. There  were  the  eggs  (Kit  got  a  halfpenny  a 
dozen  from  his  grandmother  for  the  eggs  of  "outlaying" 


A    BROKEN    HEART  177 

hens — that  is,  of  hens  which,  disdaining  their  appointed 
nests,  wandered  off  and  laid  in  the  woods) ;  no,  he  had  al- 
ways been  careful  when  arranging  one  of  these  treasure- 
troves  not  to  include  any  ducks'  eggs.  For  Kit  was  in  the 
habit  of  takinsr  occasional  tribute  from  the  official  nests  in 
the  outhouses,  in  order  that  after  a  day  or  two  he  might 
find  them  as  "  outlayers  "  and  receive  his  copper. 

On  the  whole  he  did  not  think  it  could  be  the  eggs.  The 
gooseberries  ?  No,  again  he  thought  not.  Nobody  knew 
of  that  hole  in  the  garden  hedge  except  himself.  And  he 
had  always  kept  modestly  at  the  back  of  the  bushes  whilst 
he  was  eating  his  fill.  The  broken  bowl  he  had  b-uried  in 
the  midden — again  no.  He  had  blamed  the  loss  of  that 
on  the  cat,  and  his  grandmother  had  thrown  the  dish-clout 
at  Baudrons  that  very  morning  with  such  excellent  femi- 
nine aim  that  it  had  knocked  down  other  two  bowls  from 
the  shelf ! 

He  had  it.     The  swimming  ! 

He  had  been  forbidden  to  swim  in  the  loch  unless  one  of 
his  uncles  were  with  him.  Well,  he  would  forestall  criti- 
cism. It  might  be  too  late,  but  still  he  would  try,  in  any 
event. 

"Granny,"  he  said,  "the  water  was  awfu'  warm  this 
mornin' ;  I  took  off  my  shoon  and  dabbled  my  feet  in  the 
water." 

He  looked  up  to  see  how  this  was  received.  It  contained 
the  truth,  he  told  himself,  only  a  trifle  understated.  The 
silence  in  the  Crae  cottage  became  only  more  stony  than 
before. 

"I  waded  up  to  ray  knees,"  he  added,  with  the  air  of 
one  who  makes  a  last  concession  for  the  sake  of  peace.  No 
one  spoke.  His  uncle,  Rob  Armour,  was  deeply  interested 
in  the  "Wee  Paper,"  as  T//.e  Cairn  Edward  Adve7'tiser  was 
at  that  time  somewhat  slightingly  called. 

Kit  was  in  despair.  He  resolved  that  when  he  grew  up 
and  had  nephews  and  grandchildren,  he  would  know  better 

12 


178  KIT    KENNEDY 

how  to  treat  them  when  they  had  something  on  their 
minds.  These  people  never  helped  a  little  boy  who  wanted 
only  to  make  sure  which  crime  it  was  he  had  been  found 
out  in.  They  might  at  least  give  a  fellow  a  friendly  lead, 
and  then  he  would  know  what  to  do.  But  this  dead  silence 
was  inhuman,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  How  would  they  like 
it  themselves  ? 

Then  with  a  burst  came  his  complete  confession. 

"1  strippit  and  gaed  into  the  water  this  mornin'  on  my 
road  to  the  schule  !" 

His  grandmother  stopjied  and  looked  at  him  as  he  sat 
swinging  his  legs  with  counterfeit  ease  on  the  great  wooden 
meal -ark  which  had  come  to  the  cottage  from  the  Black 
Dornal.  Then  she  went  on  again  without  making  any  re- 
mark. She  was  brushing  the  floor  with  that  quick,  uncer- 
tain stroke  which  with  Mistress  Armour  was  good  evidence 
of  a  perturbed  mind.     But  now  his  grandfather  spoke. 

^^You  were  at  the  school  to-day?"  he  said,  looking  at 
Kit  for  the  first  tiriie. 

"Aye,"  answered  Kit,  cheefully;  "I  got  to  the  head  o' 
my  class  !" 

He  felt  himself  on  firm  ground  now. 

"Let  me  see,  what  was  the  lesson  tliis  afternoon?"  said 
his  grandfather,  with  a  distance  and  calmness  which  Kit 
felt  to  be  of  the  worst  augury. 

He  saw  it  all  now.  They  had  found  out  about  his  leav- 
ing his  books  under  the  flag-stone  of  the  old  mill. 

"I  forgot  to  bring  hame  my  books,  grandfaither !"  he 
said. 

"Enough  !"  said  the  Elder,  rising  as  if  the  matter  were 
ended,  "  more  than  enough.  Boy,  do  not  lie  to  me  any 
more.  We  know  that  you  were  not  at  school  to-day.  You 
played  truant !" 

Kit  was  more  aggrieved  than  if  he  had  been  soundly 
beaten.  To  be  accused  of  having  successfully  done  that 
which  he  had  only  intended  to  do — it  was  unbearable. 


A    BROKEN    HEART  179 

"  But  I  was  iit  the  schnle  !  As  sure  as  daith,  grand- 
faitlier  !"  he  cried,  with  his  most  solemn  oath. 

"  You  were  not,"  said  his  grandfatlier.  "  Your  uncle 
was  in  Whinnyliggate.  He  asked  at  the  school  for  you, 
and  the  master  said  you  had  never  been  near  the  place  that 
day." 

It  was  a  tight  corner  for  Master  Kit,  but  he  made  the 
best  of  it.  He  told  the  whole  truth,  which  after  all,  lick- 
ing or  no  licking,  considerably  simplifies  matters.       s 

'' Grandfaither,"  he  said,  "this  is  the  way  o't — I  gaed 
into  the  loch  wi'  Royal,  but  my  mither  fand  me  and  sent 
me  to  the  schule.  The  maistcr  lickit  me  for  coming  late. 
But  I  got  a'  my  lessons,  grandfaither  !" 

"  What  time  did  ye  get  to  the  school,  sir  ?"  continued 
Kit's  inquisitor. 

"I  couldna  tell.     It  was  after  the  Bible  lesson  !" 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  believe  you,"  said  his  grand- 
father ;  "you  began  by  saying  that  you  only  dabbled  in  the 
water  —  then  that  you  Avaded,  finally  you  admit  that  you 
went  in  to  swim.  Your  uncle  was  told  by  the  master  that 
you  had  not  been  near  the  school  all  day  !" 

Tears  sprang  into  Kit's  eyes,  a  kind  of  ghastly  surprise 
settled  down  on  his  spirit.  "  Do  ye  mean  that  ye  winna 
believe  me  when  I  tell  you,  grandfaither  ?" 

"  I  am  grieved  that  you  have  not  given  me  cause  to  be- 
lieve you,  sir,"  answered  his  grandfather.  His  heart  was 
wae  for  the  boy,  but  he  believed  that  he  was  being  severe 
for  his  good. 

"Aweel !"  said  Kit,  and  rose  to  go  out  without  saying 
another  Avord. 

His  grandmother  called  him  to  come  back  and  get  his  tea. 
Her  heart  was  smiting  her  already. 

"  I  dinna  want  ony  tea,"  said  Kit,  who  was  beginning  to 
glory  in  the  injustice  done  him. 

"  Then  come  in  for  your  supper  in  an  hour.  The  parritch 
will  be  ready  a  wee  bit  earlier  the  nicht." 


180  KIT    KENNEDY 

^'  I  dinna  want  ony  parritch/'  said  Kit,  with  a  certain 
ring  of  triumph  in  his  voice. 

What  did  a  broken  heart  want  with  porridge  ?  Kit  was 
wounded  in  his  tenderest  aii'ections.  His  grandfather  had 
hitherto  been  his  standby,  and  now  even  he  had  refused  to 
believe  him.  Kit  was  under  the  impression  that  he  was  a 
truthful  boy.  And  so,  all  things  considered,  perhaps  he 
was.  That  is,  he  would  not  tell  a  direct  lie.  He  would 
rather  be  whipped  ever  so.  He  did  not  count  a  little  ju- 
dicious hedging  to  be  "lying,"  and,  after  all,  on  this  occa- 
sion he  had  told  the  truth  about  the  swimming.  Like  many 
older  folk,  Kit  discriminated  severely  between  the  truth 
and  the  whole  truth.  The  truth  was  a  duty — the  whole 
truth  often  an  inconvenience,  always  an  impertinence. 

Kit  Avandered  away  through  the  little  glen  where  the 
alders  and  willows  were  swaying  their  slender  stems  and 
silver-gray  leaves,  sighing  over  the  dreariness  of  the  world. 
The  mist  was  collecting  in  white  pools  down  in  the  hollows 
of  the  meadow.  The  waters  of  the  loch  drowsed  purple- 
black  under  the  shadow  of  the  hills.  Yonder  was  the  Dor- 
nal  where  he  had  been  so  happy. 

Now  no  one  loved  him.  He  was  alone  in  the  world.  He 
wished  he  could  go  away  over  the  hills  and  never  return. 
Perhaps  somewhere  in  the  wide  world  he  would  find  some- 
one to  care  for  him — to  believe  in  him. 

His  mind  flew  to  Meysie  Mac  Walter,  the  new  girl  from 
Kirkoswald,  with  a  certain  comfort.  She  would  understand 
and  she  would  help  him.  He  would  slip  round  that  way. 
Perhaps  he  might  see  her.  He  started  without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  though  it  was  getting  dark,  with  the  ready  alac- 
rity of  healthy  country  boyhood.  At  any  rate  he  would 
put  his  grandfather  and  his  cruel  words  out  of  his  head. 

Kit  went  on  up  the  hill-track,  past  the  quany,  through 
the  wet  bracken  in  the  midst  of  which  the  glow-worms  were 
already  shining  and  the  crickets  cherk-cherking.  The  dark- 
green  branching  fronds,  wet  with  dew,  touched  his  bare 


A    BROKEN    HEART  181 

hands.  He  conld  feel  the  coolness  of  them  through  his 
summer  clothes.  Sivish-swisJi  went  his  feet  through  the 
dew-drenched  grass,  Avhich  had  yet  nothing  of  that  dank- 
ness  which  comes  with  rain. 

The  stile  over  which  his  mother  had  disappeared  the  day 
she  found  the  tramp  was  before  him.  Kit  did  not  look  up, 
interested  in  thinking  how  deep  he  was  wading  through  the 
bracken.  Suddenly  the  keen  acrid  tang  of  strong  tobacco 
came  to  him  on  the  resinous  air  of  night.  At  the  same 
moment  a  rabbit  startled  him,  scurrying  in  prodigious 
but  half -pretended  fright  across  his  path  and  into  the 
firwood. 

He  glanced  up.  A  gun  Avas  leaning  against  the  stone 
dyke,  and  on  the  stile,  smoking  a  short  black  pipe,  sat 
Walter  Mac  Walter,  the  new  laird  of  the  Black  Dornal. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

kit's    kind    friend 

Kit's  heart  stood  still.  He  knew  that  this  was  the  arch- 
euemy  of  his  race,  the  man  who  had  tried  to  lash  him  with 
his  whip,  and  who  had  put  his  grandfather  out  of  the  farm. 
He  turned  to  run,  conscious  how  useless  it  would  be  if  the 
man  should  try  to  catch  him.     But  the  man  did  not  move, 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  boy,"  he  said  instead,  in  a  kind 
voice  ;  "  come  here,  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Whereupon  Kit,  more  from  a  feeling  of  helpless  curiosity 
than  anything  else,  stopped  and  looked  back  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  Come  here,"  said  the  man  again,  "  I  want  to  have  a 
talk  with  you." 

AValter  Mac  Walter  sat  smoking  without  a  movement. 
Kit  dragged  himself  foot  by  foot  back  through  the  bracken 
till  he  was  within  half-a-dozen  yards  of  the  stile.  Nearer 
than  that  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  go. 

A  Avild  thought  came  into  his  head  that  the  man  might 
have  grown  sorry  about  the  farm,  and  that  he  was  going  to 
tell  him  that  his  grandfather  might  go  back  again.  How 
fine  that  would  be  !  Then  he  could  return  to  the  cottage 
and  paralyze  them  all  with  the  news— he,  the  boy  whom 
they  had  refused  to  believe  and  had  cast  out  a  little  while 
before.     Ah,  they  would  be  sorry  then. 

Walter  Mac  Walter  sat  a  long  while  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  boy's  face,  perusing  his  features  like  the  pages  of  a 
book. 


'■   'MIND,    DO    NOT   DKCEIVE   ME 


KIT'S    KIND    FRIEND  183 

"  You  are  a  clever  boy,  they  tell  me  ?"  he  said. 

"  Aye,"  replied  Kit  Kennedy,  not  heeding  much  what 
he  answered.     He  wanted  him  to  begin  about  the  farm. 

"The  schoolmaster  has  a  good  account  of  you,"  con- 
tinued Mac  Walter. 

''It's  different  to  what  he  tells  mysel'  then  !"  said  Kit, 
finding  his  tongue,  "for  he's  aye  fechtin'  at  me  the  day  by 
the  length  !" 

The  man  with  the  black  pipe  laughed  a  short  laugh. 

"  I  wonder  at  you  " — his  speech  flowed  slowly,  yet  with  a 
friendliness  which  Kit  felt  the  more  because  it  was  so 
wholly  unexpected — "  how  old  are  you,  boy  ?" 

"  Gangin'  on  for  twelve,"  said  Kit,  with  the  optimism  of 
spendthrift  youth  in  the  matter  of  years. 

"  I  wonder  at  you.  Kit,"  repeated  Mac  Walter,  taking  his 
pipe  meditatively  from  his  mouth;  "you  are  twelve,  you 
say,  and  as  far  up  in  the  school  as  the  master  can  put  you, 
so  they  tell  me.  Did  you  never  think  what  a  care  and  bur- 
den you  are  to  your — your  grandfather  and  grandmother  ? 
They  are  poor  and  cannot  afford  to  keep  a  great  fellow  like 
you  idle !" 

"  I'm  no'  idle  !"  said  Kit,  indignantly. 

"What  do  you  do,  then?" 

"  I  cut  the  sticks,  I  brick  the  steps  at  the  door.  I  gather 
the  eggs,  I  look  after  the  chuckles  when  they  lay  away — !" 

Kit  faltered,  for  at  best  it  was  a  poor  catalogue,  and  even 
during  its  brief  course  his  conscience  had  smitten  him  sev- 
eral times — especially  in  the  matter  of  gathering  the  eggs. 

"These  are  all  nothing!  Your  grandmother  could  ea- 
sily do  them  herself,"  said  the  man.  "But  it  takes  food 
and  clothing  and  money  to  keep  you.  Your  school  fees 
are  to  pay  for  and  your  books  —  the  very  bread  and  milk 
you  carry  with  you  in  your  bag.  And  you  never  help  to 
bring  in  a  penny.  You  should  be  at  work,  man.  I  had  a 
father  with  money,  and  yet  I  was  sent  to  work  before  I  was 
either  as  big  or  as  old  as  you !" 


184  KIT    KENNEDY 

"I  never  thocht  o'  that !"  said  Kit,  his  heart  misgiving 
him.  It  was  evidently  true.  He  saw  it  all  now.  They 
were  tired  of  him  at  the  cottage  or  they  would  never  have 
disbelieved  him  that  night.  He  was  a  burden  to  them  and 
they  wanted  to  be  rid  of  him.  Yes,  that  was  it.  Well,  he 
would  rid  them  of  that  burden  as  soon  as  ever  he  could. 

"  But  how  can  a  boy  like  me  get  work  ?"  said  Kit.  "I 
hae  never  learned  onything  in  particular  !" 

"  If  I  was  to  find  you  work,"  said  the  man  with  the  black 
pipe,  "would  you  promise  to  bide  away  and  never  tell  any- 
body that  you  got  it  through  me  ?" 

"Aye,"  cried  Kit,  eagerly,  "I  wad  that!  As  sure  as 
daith  and  dooble  daith  !" 

"  Then,"  said  Walter  MacWalter,  "meet  me  here  to- 
morrow morning  on  your  way  to  school,  and  I  will  give  you 
a  letter  to  a  man  who  will  find  you  work  and  pay  you  well 
for  doing  it  too  !     Is  it  a  bargain  ?" 

"I'll  come  I"  answered  the  boy,  pleasing  himself  with  a 
curious  feeling  of  vengeance  upon  those  he  loved.  He 
would  make  them  sorry  for  refusing  to  believe  Kit  Ken- 
nedy. Play  truant — yes,  he  would  play  truant  for  a  very 
long  time.  Then  when  he  came  back  with  money  of  his 
own,  they  would  not  grudge  him  anything.  It  was  true 
what  the  man  said.  He  did  not  earn  anything,  and  he  was 
a  burden  upon  them.     But  it  would  not  be  for  long. 

"When  will  I  come  ?"  he  asked. 

"As  early  as  you  like,"  answered  the  man  with  the  black 
pipe  ;  "  I  will  be  on  the  outlook  for  you." 

Kit  was  turning  away  when  the  man  suddenly  called  to 
him.     "Come  and  shake  hands,  boy  !" 

Kit  turned  and  walked  fearlessly  to  Walter  MacWalter, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Guid-nicht  to  ye,  sir,  and  thank  ye  kindly  I"  he  said, 
more  cheerfully  and  gratefully  than  he  had  yet  spoken. 

The  man  looked  into  the  boy's  eyes,  and  drew  him  closer 
to  him.     Then  he  said  in  a  low   voice  with  a  suddeji 


KIT'S    KIND    FRIEND  185 

fierce  hiss  in  it,  "Mind,  do  not  deceive  me.  Keep  your 
promise." 

"  I  always  keep  my  promises  !"  said  Kit,  with  the  same 
bright  fearlessness. 

To  this  the  man  answered  nothing,  but  dropped  the  boy's 
hand  and  resumed  his  pipe. 

"  Guid-nicht  !"  said  Kit  again,  with  great  hope  in  his 
heart.  The  man  only  nodded,  and  continued  to  smoke  as 
Kit  went  homeward  through  the  wet  bracken.  At  the 
quarry  edge  where  his  father  had  lain.  Kit  turned  to  wave 
a  hand  to  his  newly-found  friend. 


CHAPTER  XXVn 

KIT    RUNS    AWAY    FROM   HOME 

There  was  a  general  air  of  clieerfnlness  in  the  air  when 
Kit  entered  the  little  cottage  under  the  wood  of  Crae. 

"  Come  your  ways  up  to  the  fire.  Kit/'  said  the  Elder, 
'•'it's  gettin'  cauld  thae  nichts." 

He  had  had  time  to  bethink  himself  during  his  grandson's 
absence,  and  it  had  occurred  to  him  that  in  spite  of  evi- 
dence to  the  contrary,  the  bo}^  might  after  all  be  telling  the 
truth.  And  at  any  rate,  he,  Matthew  Armour,  had  been 
too  great  a  sinner  to  make  him  a  good  hand  at  casting  the 
first  stone.  So  in  absence  his  mind  was  drawn  to  the  lad, 
and  when  Kit  came  in  his  grandfather  spoke  the  country- 
side talk  to  mark  the  difference. 

But  the  boy  instinctively  felt  his  advantage,  and  nursed 
his  grievance  with  the  redoubled  assiduity  of  youth,  when 
it  feels  at  once  misunderstood  and  afraid  of  giving  in. 

"I'm  no  cauld  !"  he  said,  with  chill  evasion,  and  went 
and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  settle  at  the  point  nearest  the 
door. 

"  Your  parritch  hae  been  waitin'  for  ye  this  hour  and 
mair — I  hae  keepit  them  warm  by  the  fire  for  ye,"  put  in 
his  grandmother,  anxiously. 

Kit  was  on  the  point  of  saying  that  he  did  not  Avant  any 
porriage,  but  the  hunger  at  his  stomach  and  the  thought 
of  the  long  waiting  hours  before  the  morning  induced  him 
to  think  that  sacrifice  to  wounded  pride  unnecessary.  So 
he  did  not  speak  but  moved  dourly  to  the  table.     He  was 


KIT    RUNS    AWAY    FROM    HOME        187 

afraid  of  giving  in  too  soon,  so  as  he  took  bite  and  sup  of 
the  porridge  and  milk,  the  hitter  yet  warm  from  their  one 
cow,  he  kej)t  repeating  over  to  himself  all  his  grandfather's 
cruel  aspersions  on  his  truthfulness,  and  fortifying  himself 
with  the  new  ideas  that  he  was  a  burden  to  them,  and  that 
they  must  consider  him  so  to  treat  him  as  they  had  done. 
It  was  a  comfort  to  Kit  even  in  thought  to  call  his  grand- 
father and  grandmother  "they." 

Betty  Landsborough  moved  about  with  a  quaint  smile 
on  her  face,  which  was  half  contempt  for  Kit's  fit  of  the 
sulks,  and  half  occasioned  by  a  vision  of  Rob  Armour  wait- 
ing in  vain  for  her  at  the  end  of  the  loaning,  where  she 
had  no  intention  of  Joining  him.  For,  sad  to  relate,  to 
make  a  promise  with  a  lad  was  with  Betty  by  no  means 
synonymous  with  keeping  it. 

Presently  Mistress  Armour  went  into  the  little  side  room, 
where  she  and  her  husband  slept,  to  put  things  in  order 
for  the  night.  The  Elder  was  looking  out  of  the  window. 
He  had  gone  in  before  her. 

As  soon  as  they  were  safely  out  of  the  kitchen  Betty 
came  behind  Kit  and  gave  him  a  sound  pinch  on  the  soft 
part  of  his  arm. 

"  Tak'  that  for  a  silly  sulky  brat !"  she  said,  and  passed 
on  her  way.  She  was  not  a  commonplace  girl,  Betty  Lands- 
borough. 

"Ouch!"  said  Kit  Kennedy. 

"Did  you  speak,  laddie  ?"  said  his  grandmother,  looking 
out  from  the  closet  door. 

"  No,"  said  Kit,  instantly  relapsing,  and  waiting  for 
Betty  to  come  near  enough  for  him  to  kick  her  under  the 
table. 

He  was  really  suffering  to  make  it  all  up,  but  he  would 
not  say  so  while  no  apology  was  made.  His  grandfather 
and  grandmother  were  just  as  anxious  to  be  friends  as  he, 
but  with  the  Scottish  dourness  of  relative  with  relative 
they  could  not  bring  their  minds  to  own  themselves  def- 


188  KIT    KENNEDY 

iiiitely  in  the  wrong.  Such  a  capitulation  subverted  dis- 
cipline. So  the  chance  passed  and  the  candles  were  light- 
ed for  bed. 

''  Guid-nicht,  Kit !"  said  his  grandfather. 

"  Good-night !"  answered  Oifended  Dignity — their  sev- 
eral forms  of  speech  marking  their  moods  of  mind.  So 
without  reconciliation  and  with  sore  hearts  the  friends 
parted  for  the  night. 

And  on  the  morrow  Kit  meant  to  keep  his  promise  to 
Walter  Mac  Walter. 

In  the  morning  Kit  made  ready  to  meet  his  new  bene- 
factor, the  man  with  the  pipe.  He  rose  before  daybreak, 
and  stole  down  from  his  little  garret  so  softly  that  he  did 
not  even  awake  Betty,  who  slept  near  him.  He  listened 
a  moment  at  his  grandfather's  door  to  make  sure  that  all 
was  safe.  He  was  on  the  point  of  lifting  the  latch  and 
going  out  when  he  heard  the  Elder  stir.  He  held  his  breath, 
and  in  a  moment  all  was  still  again.  The  small-paned 
window  of  the  little  kitchen  only  admitted  a  feeble  gray 
light  Avhich  diffused  itself  somewhat  dismally  over  the  floor 
with  its  whorls  of  whiting,  and  upon  the  ashes  of  last 
night's  peats  in  the  dishevelled  grate. 

Kit  had  a  stubby  pencil  in  his  pocket.  He  found  it, 
and  approached  the  deal  table.  In  the  corner  he  found 
a  ''funeral  letter" — that  is,  in  the  Scottish  language,  an 
invitation  to  attend  a  funeral.  He  tore  off  the  back,  and 
began  to  scrawl  some  words  on  the  broad  white  space  with- 
in the  heavy  mourning  borders. 

"  Dear  Gkandpaitheb  "  (so  the  letter  ran),  "I  am  run  away  to  make 
my  own  leeving  and  not  be  a  burden  on  -yon  and  grandmother  and 
Betty  no  more.  I  have  got  a  place.  At  least  a  man  says  he  will  get 
me  one.  But  I  am  not  to  tell  who  he  is,  nor  where  I  am  going.  He 
says  I  would  be  a  coward  and  greedy  if  I  stayed  and  ate  off  you  any 
longer.  Dear  grandpa,  I  am  sorry  if  I  have  been  a  greedy  wretch, 
though  I  ken  that  1  do  eat  a  lot.   And  grandfaither,  I  did  gang  to  the 


KIT    RUNS    AWAY    FROM    HOME        189 

school  yesterday,  but  was  late,  and  auld  Duncan  licked  me  for  it.  1 
didna  care  for  that,  no  a  flee.  But  I  love  you  and  will  write  you 
from  my  new  place,  and  I  hope  to  send  you  some  money  to  make  up 
for  what  I  have  eat.     So  no  more  from  your  loving  Kit." 

This  composition  took  quite  a  while  to  write,  and  the 
boy  was  on  pins  and  needles  lest  some  one  should  come 
and  find  him  at  his  task.  He  stuck  this  note,  folded 
together  neatly  and  sealed  by  a  thumb  mark,  upon  the 
latch  of  his  grandfather's  little  side  closet,  and  then, 
stealing  to  the  outer  door,  he  ran  with  all  his  might 
through  the  wood,  crossed  the  Grannoch  lane  at  the  step- 
ping-stones, and  made  his  way  up  to  the  trysting-place  on 
the  march  between  Dornal  and  Kirkoswald. 

Mr.  MacWalter  was  not  at  the  stile.  The  sun  was  just 
rising,  and  Kit  had  quite  a  while  to  wait.  But  he  re- 
membered that  he  had  omitted  to  say  his  prayers  that 
morning.  So  he  made  up  arrears  by  repeating  the  Lord's 
Prayer  twice  over,  and  the  "Chief  End  of  Man  "no  less 
than  seventeen  times. 

Kit  grew  uneasy  as  it  ueared  six  o'clock,  and  he  watched 
the  green  depths  of  the  Crae  wood  for  the  light  streamer 
of  Betty's  morning  Avood  fire  which  would  mean  that  his 
flight  had  been  discovered. 

But  MacWalter  had  seen  the  little  figure  waiting  on  the 
stile,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  arrived  along  the  edge 
of  the  stone  dyke,  striking  nnexpectedly  up  from  the  deep 
gloom  of  the  plantation.  He  had  the  same  gun  over  his 
shoulder,  and  a  setter  dog  followed  at  his  heel.  As  before 
he  was  smoking  his  black  pipe,  and  at  every  half-dozen 
steps,  regular  as  a  minute  gun,  a  solid  blue  curl  of  reek 
swept  over  his  shoulder  and  thinned  out  to  gray  behind 
him. 

"  Good-morning,  boy  !"  said  he,  without  taking  his  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth  ;  "you  are  in  time,  and  have  kept  your 
word.  Here  is  the  letter  to  your  new  master,  Mr.  John 
MacWalter  at  Loch  Spellanderie  on  the  water  of  Ken.    And 


190  KIT    KENNEDY 

here  is  a  ponnd  to  help  yon  on  yonr  way.  You  will  go 
down  this  hill,  and  through  the  wood  towards  the  railway 
cutting.  At  the  bridge  head  of  the  Dee  you  must  wait  till 
a  red  cart  comes  past.  \''ou  will  know  it  by  seeing  "  Kirk- 
oswald  "  printed  on  the  panels.  The  man  will  give  you  a 
ride.  He  is  going  to  my  brother's  farm.  I  am  giving  you 
a  chance  not  many  boys  have  had  at  your  age — a  chance  to 
make  their  own  living  and  to  rise  in  the  world." 

Kit  said  nothing,  but  looked  down  from  the  stile  on  the 
waving  fern.  He  could  have  sworn  that  he  caught  sight 
of  a  face  looking  out  from  it,  the  keen  white  face  of  a  man 
with  short-cut  gray  hair.  But  when  he  looked  again  it  had 
vanished,  and  only  the  bracken  swayed  and  soughed  as  be- 
fore in  the  breeze  of  morning. 

He  took  the  money,  and  at  Mac  Walter's  request  he  re- 
peated mechanically  the  directions  he  had  received.  Then 
he  prepared  to  depart,  the  man  with  the  black  pipe  point- 
ing out  the  way  by  which  he  could  best  escape  observation. 

"Whatever  comes,  mind  you  are  to  tell  no  one  that  it  was 
I  who  helped  you  to  do  this  !"  he  said. 

Kit  promised  with  alacrity.  He  would  not  disoblige  so 
kind  and  unselfish  a  friend. 

Besides,  he  was  now  most  anxious  to  be  gone.  For  even 
as  he  stood,  and  looked  over  the  green  tangle  of  the  bracken, 
a  faint  blue  smoke  rose  straight  up  from  among  the  trees 
in  the  Crae  wood  under  which  the  cottage  nestled.  And  as 
he  watched  it  Kit  knew  that  his  absence  would  be  dis- 
covered. He  longed  to  go  back,  but  his  pride  and  his 
promise  alike  bound  him. 

Briefly  he  bade  his  benefactor  good-bye,  and  went  down 
the  hill-side,  a  forlorn  little  figure  striding  through  the  tall 
brackens  in  the  clear  cherry-colored  morning  light — the 
eternal  type  of  youth  going  forth  to  seek  its  fortune,  igno- 
rant of  life,  eager  for  adventure,  prodigal  of  sentiment,  and 
— foredoomed  to  disillusion  and  disappointment. 

Kit  reached  the  bridge  over  Dee  Water  without  mishap, 


KIT    RUNS    AWAY    FROM    HOMP:         191 

and  presently  stood  in  the  breathing  gloom  of  the  hazel 
copse,  bending  the  elastic  branches  sufficiently  aside  to 
command  a  view  of  the  road  by  which  the  red  cart  was  to 
come. 

At  last,  after  watching  some  twenty  minutes,  far  away 
he  heard  the  rattle  of  its  loose  axle,  then  the  jog  and  sway 
of  the  plodding  farm-horse,  and  lastly  the  musical  clink 
and  tinkle  of  head  harness. 

He  kept  in  the  covert  till  he  could  see  the  "  Kirkoswald  " 
on  the  panel  and  then  came  out. 

A  taciturn  man  was  driving,  a  man  with  a  slouch  hat, 
who  wore  in  addition  a  pair  of  yellowish-brown  and  ex- 
ceeding rusty  mole-skin  trousers.  A  jean  waistcoat,  and 
boots  so  large  and  heavy  that  they  seemed  to  tilt  the  cart 
to  the  side  as  he  planted  them  on  the  shaft,  completed 
his  easy  attire.  "  Get  in,"  he  cried,  without  stopping  the 
red  cart  or  turning  his  head.  And  Kit  scrambled  easily 
in  over  the  back-board  without  waiting  for  any  further  in- 
vitation. 

''The  master  said  ye  were  to  cover  yourself  with  thae 
corn-sacks  when  we  were  drivin'  through  New  Dairy," 
said  the  serving-man,  still  without  turning  his  head,  "and 
ye  maun  lie  down  when  we  meet  onybody." 

Kit  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  so,  alternately  sitting  up  and 
lying  at  full  length  on  his  pile  of  corn-bags,  he  travelled 
forth  somewhat  unheroically  into  the  world.  Occasionally 
the  man  put  a  question  to  him  and  grunted  when  Kit 
answered  it.  At  other  times  he  gave  vent  to  a  short,  dis- 
concerting laugh,  for  no  cause  at  all  that  the  boy  could  see. 

"You  are  to  serve  at  Loch  Spellanderie  ?"  He  put  the 
question  sharply,  as  he  might  have  cracked  his  whip. 

"Aye,"  said  Kit. 

The  man  produced  a  crackling  noise  from  somewhere 
near  the  red  "  shilbin"  of  the  cart  on  which  he  rode. 

"  Micht  ye  be  acquainted  wi'  Mistress  Mac  Walter  ?" 
Again  he  shot  the  question  as  from  a  pop-gun. 


192  KIT    KENNEDY 

"  No,"  said  Kit,  as  briefly  as  before. 

Again  the  man  produced  the  curious  mechanical  sound, 
which  in  some  way  seemed  to  be  an  attemjDt  at  laugh- 
ter. 

"I  thocht  sae,"  he  said.  "But  ye  will!  Oh  yes,  ye 
will  be  better  acquainted  with  Mistress  MacWalter  o^  Loch 
Spellanderie  before  a'  be  done.  Lie  down,  here^s  a  man 
coming  !" 

Then  in  a  little,  as  they  passed  up  the  long  and  fertile 
strath  of  the  Ken,  the  man  broke  forth  with  yet  another 
question. 

''What  do  you  think  you  are  going  to  be  ?" 

"A  great  man,^'  said  Kit,  as  easily  as  if  he  had  been  de- 
claring his  intention  of  becoming  a  stone-breaker  like  his 
grandfather  or  a  forester  like  Rob.  Kit  had  always  known 
that  he  would  be  a  great  man  one  day,  and  had  already 
begun  to  be  anxious  about  the  writing  of  his  biography. 
There  were  various  matters  he  felt  that  he  would  like  to 
conceal  from  his  biographer — the  affair  of  the  hens,  for  in- 
stance, the  truantry  by  the  loch-side — indeed,  all  the  in- 
teresting revelations  Avhich  make  the  modern  biographer 
the  terror  of  his  race.  Kit,  being  old-fashioned,  began  early 
to  provide  against. 

But  the  taciturn  driver  from  Kirkoswald  had  once  been 
tickled  and  now  could  not  contain  his  mirth.  At  every 
new  turn  of  the  winding  road  up  the  green  valley  he 
chuckled  to  himself. 

"A  great  man — and  going  to  Mistress  MacWalter  o' 
Loch  Spellanderie.     Ho  !  ho  !" 

But  neither  he  nor  Kit  Kennedy  saw  a  figure  which  kept 
the  cart  in  sight  all  the  way  from  the  bridge-head  of  Dee 
to  the  loaning  gate  of  Loch  Spellanderie,  a  figure  which 
dodged  darkly  through  bracken  patches  and  behind  stone 
dikes — that  kept  a  bee-line  through  the  hazel  coppice  of 
the  Dornal  Bank,  and  was  waiting  within  a  hundred  yards 
of  Kit  when  the  red  cart  reached  the  farther  bend — that 


KIT    RUNS    AWAY    FROM    HOME         193 

skulked  among  the  heather  on  the  purple  side  of  Bennan 
when  there  was  no  shelter  by  the  way-side  and  the  highway 
ran  long  and  straight  into  the  north. 

Kit  Kennedy  was  less  alone  than  he  knew  in  his  great 
adventure. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

AFTER    MANY    DAYS 

But  we  have  now  to  turn  back  some  considerable  dis- 
tance in  order  that  the  tale  may  run  plain  and  clear. 

The  tramp  was  at  last  clear  of  both  prison  and  hospital. 
Physically  his  three  months'  hard  labor  and  six  of  nursing 
and  nourishing  food  in  the  hospital  of  the  combination 
poor-house  had  infinitely  improved  him.  The  unhealthy, 
mottled  appearance  had  gone  from  his  face.  It  was  still  a 
pale  face,  certainly,  but  with  a  look  of  health  and  vigor 
strange  to  it  for  many  days. 

The  Sheriff  had  not  forgotten  him,  and  when  Christo- 
pher Kennedy,  B.A.,  laid  aside  his  hospital  attire  he  re- 
ceived in  exchange,  not  the  stained  and  ragged  suit  of  odds 
and  ends  in  which  he  had  been  convicted,  but  a  rig-out  of 
Skye  homespun,  woven  for  Sheriff  Macleod  himself  by  the 
good  women  of  his  native  island.  It  was  rough  and  loose, 
too  large  at  chest,  and  infinitely  too  liberal  of  waist-girth 
for  the  spare,  hunger -hollowed  figure  of  the  tramp.  But 
all  the  same  a  certain  natural  gift  for  the  wearing  of  clothes 
enabled  him  to  remedy  these  defects,  so  that  the  white 
shirt  a  little  frayed  at  the  cuffs  which  had  accompanied 
the  tweed  suit,  and  a  black  tie  provided  by  the  kindly  poor- 
house  matron,  constituted  a  rig  -  out  which,  as  Nurse 
Hetherington  said,  "^  was  a  deal  mair  respectable  than  the 
Earl  liimseF  in  shootin'-time." 

Curiously  enough,  the  suit  acted  as  a  complete  disguise. 
For  the  tramj)  in  rags  caused  every  eye  to  turn  suspicious- 


AFTER    MANY    DAYS  195 

ly  upon  him,  but  the  tramp  in  another  man's  good 
clothes,  though  they  fitted  hiin  little  better  than  a  sack 
might  fit  a  pea  -  stick,  attracted  no  attention  whatever. 
He  wore  his  deer-stalker's  cap  as  a  laird  might  have  done, 
and  none  would  have  sus|)ected  that  the  tall  man  in  loose 
gray  had  done  three  months  "with,"  and  thereafter  lain 
six  months  in  hospital. 

During  these  long  months  Christopher  Kennedy  had 
been  doing  a  great  deal  of  thinking,  and,  like  others  be- 
fore him,  he  had  resolved  that  his  future  should  not  copy 
fair  his  past. 

His  feet  had  turned  instinctively  northward  when,  with 
ten  of  the  good  Sheriff's  shillings  in  his  pocket,  he  had 
been  discharged  as  cured  from  the  county  hospital,  and 
found  himself  upon  the  road  at  six  in  the  morning.  He 
was  clear  of  the  country  town  in  ten  minutes  thereafter. 
He  got  his  breakfast  of  porridge  at  a  way-side  house  near 
Tongland  Bridge. 

"  Ye're  welcome  to  them,"  the  good  dame  said.  "  Siller 
for  a  wheen  parritch  !  Preserve  us,  I  never  heard  o'  siccan 
a  thing.  Na,  faith — sup  them  up.  I  was  e'en  gaun  to  gie 
them  to  the  dowg.  But  the  tyke's  gettin'  ower  fat  ony- 
way.  He'll  be  far  better  wantin'  them.  But  they  will  no 
be  thrown  awa'  on  you,  I'm  thinkin',  my  man.  Ye  look 
as  if  ye  could  stand  a  bow  or  twa  o'  meal  for  paddin'  to 
your  ribs.  Man,  there's  room  for  twa  like  ye  in  thae  claes 
o'  yours !" 

It  was  many  months  afterwards  that  the  tramp  laid  him 
down  for  a  sleep  on  the  verge  of  Loch  Grannoch.  It  was 
a  little  flat  place  half-way  down  a  steep  bank,  a  sweet  spot, 
equally  sheltered  from  above  and  from  below.  Here  the 
broom  grew  high  and  golden,  the  stone-chats  cried  spink- 
sinnk-sjnnk,  and  the  bumblebees  hummed  like  the  horns 
of  Fairyland  all  day  long  in  that  sunny  sylvan  solitude. 

The  sound  of  voices  awakened  the  tramp,  and  he  peeped 


196  KIT    KENNEDY 

out  with  the  caution  wliich  soon  becomes  habitnal  to  a 
liunted  man.  He  saw  Lilias  MacAValter,  and  with  her  a 
boy,  slim,  tall,  and  active  of  body.  The  boy  was  putting 
on  his  clothes.  A  large  yellowish  collie  was  barking  on 
the  pebbly  beach,  running  a  little  way  into  the  water,  and 
then  squatteriug  out  again  apparently  in  order  to  entice 
the  boy  back. 

The  tramp  lay  down  again  and  listened  with  all  his  ears. 
Once  he  would  have  scorned  to  listen.  But  all  such  extra 
moralities  are  conventional  and  on  the  level  of  napkins  for 
dinner.  Once  definitely  left  behind,  the  need  of  them  is 
no  longer  felt. 

As  the  tramp  listened,  his  heart  began  to  beat  fast.  His 
pale  face  flushed  to  the  brow,  and  then  grew  paler  than  be- 
fore. He  could  scarcely  contain  himself.  He  buried  his 
face  in  the  damp  sod,  and  bit  on  the  soft  part  of  his  hand 
to  help  him  to  keep  silence.  At  the  sound  of  that  excel- 
lently low  voice  the  universe  reeled,  swayed,  and  resolved 
itself  into  whirling  mist.  The  wreckage  of  his  life  floated 
by  stick  by  stick.  He  saw  the  thing  which  might  have 
been,  and  bit  harder  to  repress  a  cry.  He  saw  what  he  had 
brought  on  others,  and  his  impulse  was  to  be  quiet  till 
Lilias  and  the  boy  had  gone  away,  and  then  to  fling  himself 
into  the  deep  peaty  waters  of  Loch  Graunoch. 

At  last  the  boy,  completely  dressed  by  his  mother's  lin- 
gering hands,  took  his  way  up  the  bank-side,  and  made  all 
haste  in  the  direction  of  Whinnyliggate  school.  Lilias,  the 
woman,  was  left  alone.  The  tramp  gripped  himself  tighter 
and  crouched  lower  in  the  broom.  He  meant  never  to  let 
her  know  of  his  presence.  But,  as  the  Galloway  folk  say, 
''  it  hadna  been  to  be." 

Lilias  Mac  Walter  rose  to  her  feet  and  shaded  her  eyes 
with  her  hand,  in  order  to  watch  her  lad  as  he  stood  waving 
his  hand  cheerfully  to  his  mother  before  vanishing  from 
her  sight. 

With  a  sudden  instinct  of  her  lost  youth  she  bent  down 


AFTER    MANY    DAYS  197 

to  pnll  a  sprig  of  the  yellow  broom.  It  had  always  been  a 
favorite  of  hers.  As  she  stooped  she  saw  the  tramp.  In- 
stinctively she  caught  her  hand  to  her  heart,  but  this  time 
she  was  not  afraid.  She  looked  about ;  the  green  lake-side 
strip,  the  scanty  pasture-fields,  the  heathery  knowes  were 
all  void  and  empty  save  for  a  scattered  score  of  nibbling 
sheep  and  one  or  two  grazing  cattle. 

"Christopher,"  she  said,  softly,  scarce  knowing  even  that 
she  spoke. 

The  man  did  not  move,  but  lay  with  his  face  con- 
cealed. She  went  timidly  and  laid  her  fingers  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  Chris  !"  she  said,  speaking  still  more  softly. 

The  man  in  the  suit  of  gray  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  and 
stood  before  her. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  here,"  he  began,  with  swift 
breathless  apology.  ''  I  walked  all  the  way  from  Kirkcud- 
bright this  morning  and  had  fallen  asleep." 

She  looked  long  at  his  face.  It  was  again  colorless,  and 
Christopher  Kennedy  appeared  a  different  man  from  the 
drunken  loafer  she  had  found  in  the  quarrv  on  the  Dornal 
Hill. 

"You  have  been  ill  ?"  she  said,  her  voice  asking  the 
question,  but  her  eyes  perusing  his  face. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  a  little  wearily,  "but  I  am  better  now. 
I  am  going  away  forever.  I  was  on  my  road.  But  I  ought 
never  to  have  come  here.  I  only  trouble  you.  I  have 
troubled  you  all  my  life." 

"  No,"  she  said,  calmly  ;  "  you  do  not  trouble  me  now, 
Christopher." 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  the  tramp.  "Do  not  think  worse  of 
me  than  you  can  help.  And  believe  that  when  I  married 
you,  I  thought  I  had  a  right  to  marry  you.  Also  that 
when  I  went  away  I  meant  to  come  back." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Lilias,  wearily,  as  if  she  had  thought 
more  than  enough  already  upon  the  subject.     "It  does 


198  KIT    KENNEDY 

not  matter,"  she  added,  as  the  hopelessness  of  their  lives 
hemmed  her  in. 

But  a  fresh  thought  struck  Lilias  and  made  her  flash 
crimson.  It  was  not  fear  of  her  husband,  for  that  day  he 
had  gone  to  market  with  Wandale  the  factor  and  would 
not  be  back  till  evening. 

*'Did  you  see  any  one  here  with  me  ?"  she  asked  the 
tramp,  keeping  her  eyes  upon  his  face. 

"No  one,"  he  assured  her,  steadily.  ''I  was  sound 
asleep." 

''Nor  hear  anything?" 

"  I  heard  the  Unties  singing  when  I  fell  asleep,  and  I 
heard  you  calling  me  by  name  when  I  awoke  !" 

"Nothing  more  ?" 

"Nothing  more !" 

Lilias  drew  a  long  breath  and  took  her  gaze  from  his 
face.  She  was  wondering  how  he  came  to  marry  Mary 
Bisset,  and  what  kind  of  eyes  and  hair  she  had.  She 
would  have  liked  to  ask  him  that  very  moment,  but  she 
dared  not. 

And  within  himself  the  tramp  was  saying  over  and  over 
in  his  heart,  "And  that  is  my  son — my  boy — hers  and 
mine.  And  she  is  my  wife.  Yet  I  dare  not  claim  her.  I 
have  ruined  myself.  I  will  not  ruin  her  also.  But,  by 
God's  grace,  I  will  not  lose  sight  of  this  lad.  He  shall  yet 
be  all  that  I  might  have  been  and  have  failed  to  be  !" 

Lilias  MacWalter  began  to  go  slowly  up  the  hill,  and  the 
tramp  walked  beside  her.  They  did  not  speak  much.  They 
did  not  tell  each  other  of  the  withered  sprigs  of  white 
heather  which  both  carried  with  them  at  that  moment. 
All  was  past,  done  with  ;  their  hearts  that  had  been  as  fire 
were  only  gray  aslies  now,  chill  and  empty  even  in  the  sun- 
shine of  the  high  new  summer.  Anger  was  not  in  the 
heart  of  Lilias — only  a  great  patient  hopelessness.  Pain 
was  not  pain  for  her  any  more.  She  seemed  as  if  under  the 
influence  of  some  spiritual  angesthetic.     She  found  herself 


AFTER    MANY    DAYS  199 

in  situations  which  ought  to  have  been  exquisitely  painful  to 
a  woman  in  her  position.  But  somehow  she  felt  nothing. 
Something  about  her  heart  seemed  permanently  frozen  and 
dead. 

"Lilias,"  said  the  tramp^  at  last,  "I  did  not  mean  to 
speak  to  you  to-day^  though  I  own  it  was  in  my  mind  to 
watch  from  tbe  wood  for  you  and  look  once  more  upon 
yonr  face.  I  will  come  no  further  with  you  now,  lest  a 
bird  of  the  air  carry  the  matter.  God  be  good  to  you, 
little  Lilias.  You  have  been  most  hardly  treated,  and  I 
the  cause.  Yet  believe  it  —  I  never  meant  you  wrong. 
And  late  or  early,  now  or  then,  I  have  never  loved  any  but 
you!" 

"  Christopher  Kennedy,"  she  answered,  "  it  is  a  strange- 
ly late  day  for  you  to  speak  of  love  to  Lilias  Mac  Walter  !" 

"  I  know — I  know,"  he  said  ;  "  it  is  my  wretched  en- 
feebled will.     I  had  not  meant  to  trouble  yon  Avith  it." 

"  Whether  you  love  me  or  not  has  long  ceased  to  con- 
cern me,"  said  the  woman,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground. 
She  was  weary  and  longed  to  be  alone.  But  though  her 
words  sounded  hard,  her  hand  was  in  the  pocket  of  the 
dress  where  within  the  folds  of  her  purse  lay  the  spray  of 
white  heather. 

They  came  to  the  end  of  the  woodland  and  with  one 
mind  they  stopped.  They  must  part  here.  Up  there  on 
the  hillside,  under  its  belt  of  trees,  stood  the  new  free- 
stone house  of  Kirkoswald.  There  on  the  other  side  lay 
the  wide  garish  Avorld,  empty  under  its  blue  arch  of  sky. 
She  must  go  to  her  narrow  duties,  her  sordid  cares,  her  nn- 
loved  husband.  He  must  wander  out,  whither  he  knew 
not  nor  greatly  cared.     The  Love  Eternal  had  come  to  this. 

Or  at  least  Christopher  Kennedy  had  not  cared  when  he 
lay  down  under  the  golden  torches  of  the  broom.  But  now 
all  was  different.     He  had  come  alive  again. 

The  tramp  stood  looking  at  the  woman  a  while  without 
speaking,  but  his  mouth  was  working  curiously. 


200  KIT    KENNEDY 

"I  do  not  ask  you  to  take  my  hand  now,  Lilias/'  he  said 
at  last,  "I  am  not  worthy.  But  some  day — some  day  you 
will  forget  all  that  I  have  made  yon  suffer,  and  only  re- 
member that  I  loved  you." 

A  short  dry  sob  choked  his  utterance.  The  storm  after 
long  threatening  broke  overhead  and  the  rain  began  to 
patter  down  on  the  leaves.  She  saw  his  face  drawn  and 
eager  in  the  pale  blue  flame  of  the  summer  lightning. 
Something  moved  in  the  heart  she  had  thought  dead. 
She  went  quickly  to  him  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder  with  a  gesture  she  had  been  wont  to  use  in  other 
days. 

"  Chris,  be  a  man  !     For  my  sake  !"  she  said. 

They  were  the  words  she  had  used  that  morning  she 
would  never  forget,  the  morning  when  the  trouble  came 
upon  them — the  trouble  of  which  she  had  known,  but  not 
he. 

"  Lilias  !"  he  cried,  and  stood  shaking  and  trembling  be- 
fore her. 

Then  turning,  without  a  word  he  strode  away  across  the 
heather,  the  lightning  flickering  about  him  and  little  fitful 
wafts  of  hot  wind  blowing  the  thunder  spume  low  over  the 
moorlands  of  the  Black  Dornal. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

ON   THE   TRAIL 

But  Christopher  Kennedy,  Master  of  Arts,  late  her  Maj- 
esty's prisoner  in  the  jail  of  St.  Cuthbert's,  had  lied  when 
he  declared  that  he  had  heard  nothing. 

The  veil  that  had  hidden  his  spirit  so  long  was  at  last 
lifted.  He  had  learned,  lying  hidden  behind  the  bush  of 
broom,  that  the  boy  Kit  Kennedy  was  the  son  of  Lilias 
Kennedy  and  therefore  his. 

For  years  he  had  thought  this  woman  dead.  A  man,  he 
knew  not  his  name,  had  told  him  on  his  first  visit  to  Sand- 
haven  after  his  flight  that  Lilias  Armour  was  dead  !  Dead — 
yes,  he  thought  it  likely  enough.  He  left  little  Lilias,  whom 
he  had  made  his  wife,  without  a  word.  He  had  not  meant 
to  go  without  telling  her.  Bat  the  crisis  had  come  upon 
him  quickly.  And  Nick  French  said  that  they  must  both 
leave  Cairn  Edward  that  night.  So  he  fled,  meaning,  with 
that  easy  shifting  of  responsibility  which  breaks  more  hearts 
than  plain  wickedness,  to  come  back  soon. 

After  he  heard  that  Lilias  was  dead  all  things  grew  mixed. 
Nothing  mattered,  and  the  succeeding  years  brought  him 
ever  lower — lower — lower  ! 

Then  all  suddenly,  like  one  awaking  with  a  start  from  a 
hideous  nightmare,  he  had  found  himself  on  his  elbow  above 
the  old  quarry,  with  another  Lilias,  one  older  and  more 
weary,  looking  down  upon  him. 

After  the  prison  he  had  wished  to  die.  In  the  poor-house 
hospital  he  had  almost  resolved  with  a  leap  to  end  all.    But 


303  KIT    KENNEDY 

not  in  Gralloway.  He  would  go  to  some  great  city  in  which 
one  tramp  the  less  would  not  matter,  where  they  would  take 
a  dead  waif  to  the  mortuary  as  nonchalantly  as  if  he  were 
a  dead  dog. 

Then,  a  long  time  after,  he  had  lain  down  behind  that 
bush  of  broom.  He  had  heard  what  he  had  heard  ;  and 
with  his  recreated  brain,  set  up  anew  by  the  discipline  of 
many  months'  total  abstinence,  he  had  reconstructed  with 
acute  and  appalling  vividness  all  that  Lilias,  little  Lilias, 
had  undergone  after  he  had  left  her  alone  in  those  great 
blindingly  bright,  horribly  empty  summer  days. 

His  son  !  The  son  of  his  wife  Lilias.  Bnt  now  she  was 
another's — for  she,  too,  had  thought  him  dead.  Well,  he 
would  never  vex  her  nor  let  her  know  that  he  had  any 
claim  upon  her.  But  this  boy,  his  son — he  would  watch 
over  him.  Here  was  something  for  him  to  do.  He  Avas 
not  yet  an  old  man.  He  could  still  work,  think,  plan. 
He  would  sin  no  more.  He  had  now  something  to  live 
for. 

So,  at  first  afar  off,  he  followed  and  watched.  During 
the  dark  years  he  had  spent  in  the  Pit  of  Life,  he  had 
learned  the  vast  liberty  which  being  on  the  lowest  level  of 
humanity  gives  a  man. 

Of  old,  when  he  was  classical  master  in  the  Academy  of 
Cairn  Edward,  he  could  not  go  along  the  High  Street  with- 
out fifty  people  wondering  where  he  had  been  and  whither 
he  might  be  going.  But  John  Smith  the  tramp !  Who 
speculated  as  to  his  outgoings  or  incomings  ?  Whether  he 
slept  in  his  fourpenuy  lodging,  or  froze  to  death  at  a  dike- 
back,  who  cared  ?  A  stray  policeman  might  cry  to  him 
sharply  to  move  on.  Bnt  that  did  not  matter  when  he  was 
moving  on  anyway.  A  gamekeeper,  more  zealous  or  more 
keen  of  sight  than  his  fellows,  might  turn  him  out  of  a 
plantation  if  he  caught  sight  of  him  entering  it.  No  mat- 
ter, there  was  another  equally  thick  half  a  mile  farther  on  ! 
But  mostly  he  could  do  what  he  would,  watch  where  he 


ON    THE    TUAIL  203 

liked,  go  where  his  liking  took  him,  Avith  none  to  interest 
themselves  in  his  movements,  without  suspicion,  surmise, 
or  question  on  the  part  of  any  human  soul.  Thus  on  the 
ground  floor  of  life  many  stiff  problems  resolve  themselves. 

So  the  tramp  watched  tlie  boy  Kit  Kennedy. 

He  was  present  at  his  interview  with  Walter  Mac  Walter. 
It  was  his  approach  that  stirred  like  the  passing  of  a  breeze 
the  tall  bracken  on  the  Dornal  side  of  the  stile.  And  as 
the  red  farm  cart  with  the  taciturn  driver  took  its  rattling 
road  towards  Loch  Spellanderie  and  the  abode  of  Kit's  new 
master,  there  might  have  been  seen  at  intervals,  trickling 
round  some  distant  curve,  at  gaze  upon  a  bold  bluff,  wait- 
ing under  a  hedge  after  some  short  cut  through  fields,  a 
certain  ragged  tramp,  to  whom  all  routes  were  the  same, 
to  whom  time  was  no  object,  whose  meals  were  always  as- 
sured in  that  hospitable  lowland  countryside,  and  who 
could  sleep  under  any  stack  or  outhouse,  or  if  need  be  in 
the  short  summer  heats  under  the  gray  coverlet  of  night 
itself. 

That  shadow  was  Kit  Kennedy's  newly-appointed  guar- 
dian angel.  The  classical  master  knew  well  enough  that 
Kit  Kennedy  was  running  away  from  home.  And  he  did 
not  mean  to  prevent  him.  He  saw  that  so  long  as  the  boy 
remained  with  his  grandfather  in  the  little  cottage,  his 
goings  and  comings  carefully  watched  and  noted,  he  could 
do  but  little  for  him.  Besides,  he  wanted  to  find  out  what 
object  MacWalter  had  in  thus  secretly  getting  rid  of  Kit. 

So  it  happened  that  when  the  cart  turned  into  the  farm- 
yard of  Loch  Spellanderie  with  Kit  asleep  upon  the  corn- 
sacks,  a  tramp  halted  with  his  bundle  at  the  road -end 
which  led  up  to  the  out-at-elbows  pile  occupied  by  the 
brother  of  the  laird  of  Kirkoswald  and  his  wife. 

As  the  tramp  sat  there  it  chanced  that  he  heard  a  sound 
of  singing  along  the  long  vacant  road  to  the  north.  The 
afternoon  sun  was  still  hot,  and  the  tramp  rested  under  a 
wide-sheltering  ash,  the  shadows  of  whose  leaves  swept  the 


204  KIT    KENNEDY 

grass  with  a  soft  sidelong  movement  like  the  caressing  of  a 
woman's  hand. 

"  Come,  Love,  let's  walk  in  yonder  spring, 
Where  we  may  hear  the  blackbird  sing, 
The  robin-redbreast  and  the  thrush, 
The  nichtingale  in  thorny  bush, 
The  mavis  sweetly  carolling. 
This  to  my  love,  this  to  my  love. 
Content  will  bring." 

Heather  Jock  was  on  his  way  home  from  the  uplands  of 
Carsphairn,  whither  he  had  gone  to  peddle  his  besoms. 
Already  he  could  smell  the  good  smell  of  his  native  air, 
and  as  he  was  wont  to  say,  pointing  proudly  to  his  donkey 
as  one  might  put  forward  a  favorite  child,  "As  soon  as 
ever  Billy-0  gets  his  nose  by  Snuffy  point  and  the  wind  o' 
Whinnyliggate  blaws  roond  the  hip  o'  the  Bennan,  he's  a 
different  beast.  It's  graund  air,  that  o'  the  muirlands. 
Fowk  canna  dee  up  there.  There's  naebody  has  died  fairly, 
up  amang  thae  Carsphairn  Hills,  within  the  memory  o' 


man." 


"  And  how,"  some  one  would  put  in,  "  how  is  it  that 
whiles  we  will  see  a  funeral  comin'  doon  frae  that  gate  ?" 

Heather  Jock  would  shake  his  head  sagely,  then  nod  a 
little  knowing  nod. 

"There's  ways  — aye,  there's  ways.  Whiles  fowk  has 
leeved  lang  eneuch.  Whiles  it's  better  that  they  should 
slip  awa' !  But  that's  no  what  ye  wad  caa  deein' !  Na ! 
na !  That's  just  Avhat  they  caa  in  Carsphairn  '  a  kind 
provi-dence  !' " 

Heather  Jock  was  in  good  humor.  He  had  no  wife 
waiting  for  him  at  home.  Billy-0  would  be  the  better  of  a 
rest — he  himself  of  a  pipe.  Here  was  company  ready  to 
his  hand  under  a  commodious  tree.  So  Heather  Jock,  a 
universally  adaptive  man,  sat  down  beside  the  tramp. 

"Will  ye  hae  a  draw,  honest  man  ?"  he  said.  "No, 
ye're   richt.     No  on   an   empty  stammack !     Stand   still. 


ON    THE    TRAIL  205 

Billy-0  !  I'll  tak'  aff  yonr  creels.  Ye're  mair  trouble  than 
twa  wives  that  williia'  gree.  I'll  no  say  bnt  ye  are  mair 
solid  comfort  too,  though  that's  neither  here  nor  there  !" 

The  tramp  watched  the  pedlar  as  he  busied  himself  with 
his  creels. 

"  I'se  warrant,  my  lad,  ye'Il  no  be  ony  the  waur  o'  a  bit 
whang  o'  mutton  ham.  It's  rare  stuff,  as  I  can  tell  ye,  for 
this  is  nae  braxy,  but  a  graund  auld  yow  (ewe).  A  rale 
snaw-breaker,  abune  fifty  year  auld,  they  say  she  was.  I 
gat  it  up  at  the  Glenhead  frae  Mistress  MacMillan,  and 
says  she,  '  Jock,  that'll  baud  your  teeth  gaun  tell  ye  win 
hame — that  is,  if  ye  hae  guid  teeth  and  they  last  oot. 
We  hae  a'  had  a  turn  at  Auld  Granny,  and  the  teeth  in 
this  hoose  is  a'  dune  !'  she  says. 

"■But  I  dare  say  ye'll  no  quarrel  wi'  it.  They  are  awfu' 
particular  fowk  aboot  their  eatin'  up  in  the  Glen  o'  Trool. 
Kind  fowk  too.  There  was  the  guidwife  o'  the  Trostan. 
She  fair  fleeched  on  me  to  bide  wi'  her.  'I  wad  hae  gien 
ye  a  bed,  and  welcome,  Jock,'  says  she,  '  but  there  is  a 
horse  in  't !'  Terrible  kind  fowk  they  are  up  at  the  head 
end  o'  yon  glen.  How  are  ye  managing  wi'  the  mutton 
ham — no  that  ill,  I  houp  ?  Aye,  man,  I  wish  I  had  teeth 
like  you.  I  declare  to  peace  ye  could  tak'  to  stanebreakin' 
withoot  a  hammer.     It's  fair  divertin'  to  watch  ye  !" 

So  Heather  Jock  plied  the  tramp  with  provender  and 
local  information  crouched  in  the  raciest  form  o'  Scots, 
only  spoken  by  the  folk  of  the  western  uplands,  where  it 
is  still  free  from  the  defilements  of  Glasgow  Irish,  and 
shines  with  a  lustre  undimmed  by  secondary  education. 

The  tramp  put  a  question. 

"Wha  leeves  up  there,  say  ye?"  cried  Heather  Jock, 
"and  what  like  fowk  are  they?  Weel,  I'll  tell  ye.  Ye 
maun  be  a  sore  stranger  no  to  ken,  though.  John  Mac- 
Walter  leeves  there,  a  decent  man,  and  the  name  o'  the  bit 
farm  is  Loch  Spellanderie.  John  wad  gie  ye  a  bed  and 
your  breakfast — that  is,  gin  he  wasna  hadden  doon  wi'  a 


206  KIT    KENNEDY 

wife.  But  to  tell  ye  tlie  truth,  John,  honest  man,  is  o' 
nae  mair  accoont  up  at  Loch  Spellanderie  than  you  or  me — 
as  a  yin  micht  say,  puir  Billy-0  ! 

"  0,  she's  a  tairger.  Mistress  Mac  Walter.  She  wadna 
gie  ye  ony  mutton  ham,  though  ye  micht  hae  a  chance  to 
get  the  shank  bane  on  the  side  o'  your  head." 

"  Would  they  be  kind,  think  you,  to  some  one  in  service 
there  ?"  asked  the  tramp. 

"Ye  needna  think  on't,  my  man  !"  said  Heather  Jock. 
"  They  keep  nae  man  at  Loch  Spellanderie.  A  bit  boy 
(Guid  peety  him  !)  and  a  slip  o'  a  lassie  indoors  to  provide 
Mistress  MacWalter  wi'  employment  for  her  hands  and 
tongue.  That's  a'  the  service  that  they  hae  ony  use  for 
up  at  Loch  Spellanderie." 

Heather  Jock  was  eying  the  tramj)  carefully. 

"Ye  hae  seen  trouble  in  your  day,"  he  said  at  length; 
"were  ye  seekin'  wark  ?  I  think  I  can  put  you  in  the  way 
o'  some.  D'ye  see  yon  white  lioose  on  tlie  hillside  yonder  ? 
That's  Rogerson's  o'  Cairnharrow.  They  are  wantin'  an 
orra  man,  for  the  guidman  has  a  sair  hand,  and  fowk  are 
ill  to  get  up  here.  I  think  ye  might  hae  a  chance,  though 
ye  dinna  look  verra  strong — and  mair  like  your  bed  than 
takin'  on  wi'  farm  wark." 

"  I  have  been  ill — very  ill,"  acknowledged  the  tramp, 
"but  I  am  better  now." 

"  Fegs,  I  was  thinkin'  that,  by  the  haun  ye  hae  made 
o'  the  mutton  ham.  It's  fair  astonishin' !  Honest  Geordie 
Breerie  himsel'  couldna  hae  beat  ye  ! 

"  Weel,  guid-day  till  ye — What  did  ye  say  your  name 
was  ?  Smith  ?  Dod,  I  yince  kenned  a  man  o'  the  name 
o'  Smith.  Maybe  he  was  some  friend  of  yours.  It's  no  a 
common  name  here  awa' — Smith.  They's  a'MacMillans  and 
MacQuhirrs  an'  MacLandsboroughs.  Aye,  man,  and  ye're 
a  Smith.  Weel,  a  heap  o'  decent  fowk  hae  had  queer  oot- 
landish  names  in  their  day.  And  I  daresay  ye'll  no  be  a 
penny  the  waur  o'  yours  !" 


ON    THE    TRAIL  207 

And  so  with  this  farewell,  uttered  in  all  sincerity, 
Heather  Jock  took  his  way  down  the  strath  of  Kells, 
and  soon  BilIy-0  was  sniffing  the  fine  Whinnyliggate  air, 
and  beginning  to  think  how  good  it  would  be  to  get 
off  creels  and  saddles  and  leathern  bellybands  and  in- 
dulge in  a  long  scratchy,  satisfactory  roll  among  the 
heather. 

The  tramp  sat  awhile  at  the  foot  of  the  little  loaning 
that  wound  its  way  from  the  main  road  up  to  the  farm  of 
Loch  Spellanderie.  He  was  thinking  whether  he  should 
accept  the  advice  Heather  Jock  had  given  him,  or  remain 
in  a  position  of  greater  freedom,  when  he  heard  heavy  foot- 
steps coming  down  the  avenue.  He  could  not  see  the 
wearer  of  these  weighty  boots,  but  presently  the  black- 
pitched  gate  was  opened,  and  a  tall,  dark-browed,  mascu- 
line-looking woman  came  out  with  the  swing  of  a  grenadier. 
She  caught  sight  of  the  tramp's  gray  coat  and  instantly 
stopped. 

"Get  awa  oot  o'  here  !"  she  cried,  pointing  to  his  little 
bundle,  which  lay  on  the  grass  beside  him.  "We  want 
nane  o'your  kind  here.  There's  thieves  and  useless  repro- 
bates enough  coming  intil  a  decent  woman's  hoose  without 
gangrel  vaigabonds  sitting  on  her  verra  doorstep.  Aye,  an' 
Avhaur  gat  ye  that  mutton  ham  ?  I  missed  yin  the  day 
before  yesterday.  I  wish  there  was  a  polissman  here. 
Tak'  your  ways  up  the  road,  my  man,  and  look  as  slippy 
as  ye  can,  or  I'll  set  the  dowgs  after  ye  !" 

The  tramp  said  nothing,  but  rose  to  his  feet,  and  pocket- 
ing his  package  and  the  affront  together  he  went  quietly 
up  the  road.     The  wrathful  voice  pursued  him. 

"  Dinna  let  me  see  or  hear  o'  you  in  this  country- 
side again,  my  man  —  you  that  hasna  a  ceevil  word  in 
your  head  an'  a  stolen  mutton  ham  in  yonr  hand — gaun 
aboot  the  land  burnin'  ricks  wi'  your  matches  and  abus- 
ing decent  women  wi'  your  black  looks,  vermin  that  ye 
are  !" 


208  KIT    KENNEDY 

And  the  mistress  of  Loch  Spellanderie  took  her  way 
with  the  consciousness  of  having  done  a  worthy  and  emi- 
nently Christian  action,  in  thus  ridding  the  bounds  of  so 
disreputable  and  even  dangerous  an  element  as  the  tramp 
in  gray. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE    ne'er-do-weel 

A  STORMY  voice  broke  the  morning  silence  of  the  farm- 
house of  Loch  Spellauderie  some  months  thereafter. 

''Kit  Kennedy,  ye  are  a  lazy  ne'er-do-weel,  lyin'  snorin' 
there  in  your  bed  on  the  back  o'  five  o'clock.  Think  shame 
o'  yoursel'.^' 

And  Kit  did. 

He  was  informed  on  an  average  ten  times  a  day  that  he 
was  lazy,  a  skulker,  a  burden  on  the  world,  and  especially 
on  the  household  of  his  mother's  sister-in-law.  Mistress 
MacWalter  of  Loch  Spellauderie.  So,  being  an  easy- 
minded  boy,  and  moderately  cheerful,  he  accepted  the 
fact,  and  shaped  his  life  accordingly. 

''  Get  up  this  instant,  ye  scoondrel !"  came  again  the 
sharp  voice.  It  was  speaking  from  under  three  ply  of 
blankets,  in  the  ceiled  room  beneath.  That  is  why  it 
seemed  a  trifle  more  muffled  than  usual.  It  even  sounded 
kindly,  but  Kit  Kennedy  was  not  deceived.  He  knew 
better  than  that. 

"  Gin  ye  dinna  be  stirrin',  I'll  be  up  to  ye  wi'  a  stick  !" 
cried  Mistress  MacWalter. 

It  was  a  grayish,  glimmering  twilight  when  Kit  Ken- 
nedy awoke.  It  seemed  such  a  short  time  since  he  went  to 
bed  that  he  thought  that  surely  his  mistress  had  called  him 
the  night  before.  Kit  was  not  surprised.  She  was  capa- 
ble of  anything  in  the  way  of  extracting  work  out  of  him. 

The  moon,  getting  old,  and  yawning  in  the  middle  as  if 

14 


210  KIT    KENNEDY 

tired  of  being  out  so  late,  set  a  crumbly  horn  past  the  edge 
of  his  little  skylight.  Her  straggling,  pallid  rays  fell  on 
something  white  on  Kit's  bed.  He  put  out  his  hand,  and 
it  went  into  a  cold  wreath  of  snow  up  to  the  wrist. 

"  OucUr  said  Kit  Kennedy. 

"Vm  comin'  to  ye,"  repeated  his  mistress,  '^ye  lazy, 
pampered,  guid-for-naething !  Dinna  think  I  canna  hear 
ye  grumblin'  and  speakiu'  ill  words  against  your  betters  !" 

Yet  all  he  had  said  was  "  Ouch  !" — in  the  circumstances, 
a  somewhat  natural  remark. 

Kit  took  the  corner  of  the  scanty  coverlet,  and,  with  a 
well-accustomed  arm-sweep,  sent  the  whole  swirl  of  snow 
over  the  end  of  his  bed,  getting  across  the  side  at  the  same 
time  himself.  He  did  not  complain.  All  he  said,  as  he 
blew  upon  his  hands  and  slapped  them  against  the  sides, 
was,  "  Michty,  it'll  be  cauld  at  the  turnip  pits  this  mornin' !" 

It  had  been  snowing  in  the  night  since  Kit  lay  down, 
and  the  snow  had  sifted  in  through  the  open  tiles  of  the 
farmhouse  of  Loch  Spellanderie.  That  was  nothing.  It 
often  did  that,  but  sometimes  it  rained,  and  that  was 
worse.  Yet  Kit  Kennedy  did  not  much  mind  even  that. 
He  had  a  cunning  arrangement  in  old  umbrellas  and  corn- 
sacks  that  could  beat  the  rain  any  day.  Snow,  in  his  own 
Avords,  he  did  not  give  a  ''buckie"  for. 

Then  there  was  a  stirring  on  the  floor,  a  creaking  of  the 
ancient  joists.  It  was  Kit  putting  on  his  clothes.  He  al- 
ways knew  where  each  article  lay — dark  or  shine,  it  made 
no  matter  to  him.  He  had  not  an  embarrassment  of  ap- 
parel. He  had  a  suit  for  wearing — and  his  "  other  clothes." 
These  latter  were,  however,  now  too  small  for  him,  and  so 
he  could  not  go  to  the  kirk  at  Whinnyliggate.  But  his 
mistress  had  laid  them  aside  for  her  son  Tammas,  a  grow- 
ing lad.     She  was  a  thoughtful,  provident  woman. 

"  Be  gettin'  doon  the  stair,  my  man,  and  look  slippy," 
cried  Mistress  Mac  Walter,  as  a  parting  shot,  "and  see  care- 
fully to  the  kye.     It'll  be  as  weel  for  ye." 


THE    NE'ER-DO-WEEL  211 

Kit  had  on  his  trousers  by  tliis  time.  His  waistcoat 
followed.  But  before  lie  put  on  his  coat  he  knelt  down  to 
say  his  prayer.  He  had  promised  his  mother  to  say  it  then. 
If  he  put  on  his  coat  he  was  apt  to  forget  it,  in  his  haste  to 
get  out  of  doors,  where  at  least  the  beasts  were  friendly. 
So  between  his  waistcoat  and  his  coat  he  prayed.  The 
angels  were  up  at  the  time  and  they  heard,  and  went  and 
told  One  who  hears  prayer.  They  said  that  in  a  garret  at 
a  hill  farm  a  boy  was  praying  with  his  knees  in  snow-drift, 
a  boy  without  father  or  mother  near  to  help  or  listen  to 
him. 

*'  Ye  lazy  guid-for-naething  !  Gin  ye  are  no  doon  the 
stairs  in  three  meenits,  no  a  drap  o'  porridge  or  a  sup  o' 
milk  shall  ye  get  this  day  !" 

So  Kit  got  on  his  feet,  and  made  a  queer  little  shuffling 
noise  on  the  floor  with  them,  to  induce  his  mistress  to 
think  that  he  was  bestirring  himself.  So  that  is  the  way 
he  had  to  finish  his  prayers — on  his  feet,  shuffling  and 
dancing  a  breakdown. 

The  angels  saw  and  smiled.  But  they  took  it  up  and 
up,  just  the  same  as  if  Kit  Kennedy  had  been  praying  in 
church  with  the  best.  All  save  one,  who  stopped  above  the 
garret  to  drop  something  that  might  have  been  a  pearl  and 
might  have  been  a  tear.  Then  he  also  went  within  the  In- 
ner Court,  and  told  that  which  he  had  seen. 

But  to  Kit's  mind  there  was  nothing  to  grumble  about. 
He  was  pleased  if  any  one  was.  His  clogs  did  not  let  in 
the  snow.  His  coat  was  rough  but  warm.  If  any  one  was 
well  off,  and  knew  it,  it  was  Kit  Kennedy. 

So  he  came  downstairs,  if  stairs  they  could  be  called  that 
were  but  the  broken  rounds  of  a  stable  ladder.  His  mis- 
tress heard  him. 

'^  Keep  awa'  frae  the  kitchen,  ye  thievin'  loon  !  There's 
nocht  there  for  ye — takin'  the  bairns'  meat  afore  they're 
up!" 

But  Kit  was  not  hungry,  which,  in  the  circumstances. 


213  KIT    KENNEDY 

was  as  well.  Mistress  Mac  Walter  had  canglit  him  red- 
handed  on  one  occasion.  He  was  taking  a  bit  of  hard  oat- 
cake out  of  the  basket  of  "  farles  "  which  swung  from  the 
black,  smoked  beam  in  the  corner.  Kit  had  cause  to  re- 
member the  occasion.  Ever  since  she  had  cast  it  up  to 
him.  She  was  a  master  hand  at  "  casting  up,"  as  her  hus- 
band knew.  But  Kit  was  used  to  it,  and  he  did  not  care. 
A  thick  stick  was  all  he  cared  for,  and  that  only  for  three 
minutes  ;  but  he  minded  when  Mistress  Mac  Walter  abused 
his  mother. 

Kit  Kennedy  made  for  the  front  door,  direct  from  the 
foot  of  the  ladder.  Mrs.  MacAValter  raised  herself  on  one 
elbow  in  bed  to  assure  herself  that  he  did  not  go  into  the 
kitchen  after  all.  She  heard  the  click  of  the  bolt  shot 
back,  and  the  stir  of  the  dogs  as  Tweed  and  Tyke  rose  from 
the  fireside  to  follow  him.  There  was  still  a  little  red  ash 
gleaming  between  the  bars,  and  Kit  would  dearly  have 
liked  to  go  in  and  thaw  out  his  toes  on  the  still  warm 
hearthstone.  But  he  knew  that  his  task-mistress  was  lis- 
tening. He  was  twelve  now,  and  big  for  his  age,  so  he 
wasted  no  pity  on  himself,  but  opened  the  door  and  went 
out.     Self-pity  is  bad  at  any  time.     It  is  fatal  at  twelve. 

At  the  door  one  of  the  dogs  stopped,  sniffed  the  keen, 
frosty  air,  turned  quietly  and  went  back  to  the  hearthstone. 
That  was  Tweed.  But  Tyke  was  already  out  rolling  in  the 
snow  when  Kit  Kennedy  shut  the  door. 

Then  his  mistress  went  to  sleep.  She  knew  how  Kit 
Kennedy  did  his  work,  and  that  there  would  be  no  cause 
to  complain.  But  she  meant  to  complain  all  the  same. 
Was  he  not  a  lazy,  deceitful  hound,  an  encumbrance,  and 
an  interloper  among  her  bairns  ? 

Kit  slapped  his  long  arms  against  his  sides.  He  stood 
beneath  his  employer's  window,  and  crowed  so  like  a  cock 
that  Mistress  Mac  Walter  jumped  out  of  her  bed. 

"  Save  us  !"  she  said.  "  What's  that  keckling  beast  doin' 
there  at  this  time  in  the  mornin'  ?" 


THE    NE'ER-DO-WEEL  213 

She  got  out  of  bed  to  look,  but  she  could  see  nothing, 
certainly  not  Kit.  But  Kit  saw  her,  as  she  stood  shivering 
at  the  window  in  her  night-gear.  Kit  hoped  that  her  legs 
were  cold.  This  was  his  revenge.  He  was  a  revengeful 
boy. 

As  for  himself  he  was  as  warm  as  a  toast.  The  stars 
tingled  above  with  frost.  The  moon  lay  over  on  her  back 
and  yawned  still  more  ungracefully.  She  seemed  more 
tired  than  ever. 

Kit  had  an  idea.  He  stopped  and  cried  up  at  her  : 
"  Get  up,  ye  lazy  guid-for-naethiug  !  I'll  come  up  wi'  a 
stick  to  ye  !" 

But  the  moon  did  not  come  down.  On  the  contrary, 
she  made  no  sign.  Kit  laughed.  He  had  to  stop  in  the 
snow  to  do  it.  The  imitation  of  his  mistress  pleased  him. 
He  fancied  himself  climbing  up  a  rung  ladder  to  the  moon, 
with  a  broomstick  in  his  hand.  He  would  start  that  old 
moon  if  he  fell  down  and  broke  his  neck.  Kit  was  hungry 
now.  It  was  a  long  time  since  supper-time.  Porridge  is, 
no  doubt,  good  feeding ;  but  it  vanishes  away  like  the 
morning  cloud,  and  leaves  behind  it  only  an  aching  void. 
Kit  felt  the  void,  but  he  could  not  help  it.  Instead,  how- 
ever, of  dwelling  upon  it,  his  mind  was  full  of  queer 
thoughts  and  funny  imaginings.  It  is  a  strange  thing  that 
the  thought  of  rattling  on  the  ribs  of  a  lazy,  sleepy  moon 
with  a  besom-shank  pleased  him  more  than  a  plate  of  por- 
ridge and  as  much  milk  as  he  could  sup  to  it.  But  such 
was  the  fact. 

Kit  next  went  into  the  stable  to  get  a  lantern.  The 
horses  were  moving  about  restlessly,  but  Kit  had  nothing 
to  do  with  them.  He  only  went  in  for  the  lantern.  It 
stood  on  the  great  wooden  corn-crib  in  the  corner.  Kit 
lighted  it  and  pulled  his  cap  over  his  ears. 

Then  he  crossed  over  to  the  cattle-sheds.  The  snow  was 
crisp  under  foot.  His  feet  went  through  the  light  drift 
which  had  fallen  during  the  night,  and  crcakled  frostily 


214  KIT    KENNEDY    ' 

npon  the  older  and  harder  undercrust.  At  the  barn  door 
Kit  paused  to  put  fresh  straw  in  his  iron-shod  clogs. 
Fresh  straw  every  morning  in  the  bottom  of  one's  clogs  is 
a  great  luxury.  It  keeps  the  feet  warm.  Who  can  afford 
a  new  sole  of  fleecy  wool  every  morning  to  his  shoe  ?  Kit 
could,  for  straw  is  cheap,  and  even  his  mistress  did  not 
grudge  a  handful.  Not  that  it  would  have  mattered  if 
she  had. 

The  cattle  rattled  their  chains  in  a  friendly  and  compan- 
ionable way  as  he  crossed  the  yard,  Tyke  following  a  little 
more  sedately  than  before.  Kit's  first  morning  job  was  to 
fodder  the  cattle.  He  went  to  the  hay-mow  and  carried  out 
a  huge  armful,  filling  the  manger  before  the  bullocks,  and 
giving  each  a  friendly  pat  as  he  went  by.  Great  Jock,  the 
bull  in  the  pen  by  himself  in  the  corner,  pushed  a  moist 
nose  over  the  bars,  and  dribbled  upon  Kit  with  slobbering 
amicability. 

Kit  put  down  his  head  and  pretended  to  run  at  him, 
whereat  Jock,  whom  nobody  else  dared  go  near,  beamed 
upon  him  with  the  solemn  affection  of  "  bestial "  for  those 
whom  they  love,  his  great  eyes  shining  out  in  the  light  of 
the  lamp  with  unlovely  but  genuine  affection. 

Then  came  the  cows'  turn.  Kit  Kennedy  took  a  milk- 
ing-pail,  which  he  would  have  called  a  "  luggie,"  set  his 
knee  to  Crummie,  his  favorite,  who  was  munching  her 
fodder,  and  soon  had  a  warm  draught.  He  pledged  Crum- 
mie in  her  own  milk,  wishing  her  good  health  and  many 
happy  returns.  Then,  for  his  mistress's  sake,  he  carefully 
wiped  the  luggie  dry,  and  set  it  where  he  had  found  it. 
He  had  got  his  breakfast — no  mean  or  poor  one. 

But  he  did  not  doubt  that  he  was,  as  Mistress  Mac- 
Walter  had  said,  "  a  lazy,  deceitful,  thieving  hound.'' 

Kit  Kennedy  came  out  of  the  byre,  and  trudged  away 
out  over  the  field  at  the  back  of  the  barn  to  the  sheep  in 
the  park.  He  heard  one  of  them  cough  as  a  human  being 
does  behind  his  hand.     The  lantern  threw  dancing  reflec- 


THJE    NE'ER-DO-WEEL  215 

tioiis  on  the  snow.  Tyke  grovelled  and  rolled  in  the  light 
drift,  barking  loudly.  He  bit  at  his  own  tail.  Kit  set 
down  the  lantern,  and  fell  upon  him  for  a  tussle.  The 
two  of  them  had  rolled  one  another  into  a  snow-drift  in 
exactly  ten  seconds,  from  which  they  rose  glowing  with 
heat — the  heat  of  young  things  when  the  blood  runs  fast. 

Tyke,  being  excited,  scoured  away  wildly,  and  circled 
the  park  at  a  hand-gallop  before  his  return.  But  Kit  only 
lifted  the  lantern  and  made  for  the  turnip-pits. 

The  turnip-cutter  stood  there,  with  great  square  mouth 
black  against  the  sky.  That  mouth  must  be  filled  and 
emptied  many  times.  Kit  went  to  the  end  of  the  barrow- 
like mound  of  the  turnip-pit.  It  was  covered  with  snow, 
so  that  it  hardly  showed  above  the  level  of  the  field.  Kit 
threw  back  the  coverings  of  old  sacks  and  straw  which  kept 
the  turnips  from  the  frost.  There  lay  the  great  green-and- 
yellow  globes,  full  of  sap.  The  snow  had  slid  down  upon 
them  from  the  top  of  the  pit.  The  frost  grasped  them 
from  without.  It  was  a  chilly  job  to  handle  them,  but 
Kit  did  not  hesitate  a  moment. 

He  filled  his  arms  with  "swedes"  and  went  to  the  tur- 
nip-cutter. Soon  the  "  crunch-crunch  "  of  the  knives  was 
to  be  heard  as  Kit  drove  round  the  handle,  and  afterwards 
the  frosty  sound  of  the  oblong  finger-lengths  of  cut  turnip 
falling  into  the  basket.  The  sheep  had  gathered  about 
him,  silently  for  the  most  part.  Tyke  sat  still  and  digni- 
fied now,  guarding  the  lantern,  which  the  sheep  were  in- 
clined to  butt  over.  Kit  heard  the  animals  knocking 
against  the  empty  troughs  with  their  hard  little  trotters^ 
and  snuffing  about  them  with  their  nostrils. 

He  lifted  the  heavy  basket,  heaved  it  against  his  breast, 
and  made  his  way  down  the  long  line  of  troughs.  The 
sheep  crowded  about  him,  shoving  and  elbowing  each  other 
like  so  many  human  beings,  as  callously  and  selfishly.  His 
first  basket  did  not  go  far,  as  he  shovelled  it  in  great  hand- 
fuls  into  the  troughs,  and  Kit  came  back  for  another.     It 


216  KIT    KENNEDY 

was  tiring  work,  and  the  clay  was  dawning  gray  when  he 
had  finished.  Then  he  made  the  circuit  of  the  field,  to  as- 
sure himself  that  all  was  right,  and  that  there  were  no 
stragglers  lying  frozen  in  corners,  or  turned  "avel"  in  the 
dusty  lirks  of  the  knowes. 

Then  he  went  back  to  the  onstead  of  Loch  Spellanderie. 
The  moon  had  gone  down,  and  the  farm  buildings  loomed 
very  cold  and  bleak  out  of  the  frost-fog. 

Mistress  Mac  Walter  was  on  foot.  She  had  slept  nearly 
two  hours,  being  half  an  hour  too  long,  after  wearying  her- 
self with  raising  Kit ;  and  furthermore  she  had  risen  with 
a  very  bad  temper.  But  this  was  no  uncommon  occurrence. 
She  was  now  in  the  byre  with  a  lantern  of  her  own.  She 
was  talking  to  herself,  and  ''flyting"  on  the  patient  cows, 
who  now  stood  chewing  the  cuds  of  their  breakfast.  She 
slapped  them  apart  with  her  stool,  applying  it  savagely  to 
their  flanks.  She  even  lifted  her  foot  to  them,  which  af- 
fronts a  self-respecting  cow  as  much  as  a  human  being. 

In  this  spirit  she  greeted  Kit  when  he  appeared. 

"Where  hae  ye  been,  ye  careless  deevil,  ye?  A  guid 
mind  hae  I  to  gie  ye  my  milking-stool  owre  yer  crown,  ye 
senseless,  menseless  blastie  !  What  ill  -  contriving  tricks 
hae  ye  been  at  that  ye  haena  gotten  the  kye  milkit  ?" 

"I  hae  been  feeding  the  sheep  at  the  pits,  mistress," 
said  Kit  Kennedy. 

"Dinna  'mistress'  me,"  cried  his  employer;  "ye  hae 
been  wasting  your  time  at  some  o'  your  thievin'  ploys. 
What  do  ye  think  that  John  Mac  Walter,  silly  man,  feeds 
you  for  ?  He  has  plenty  o'  weans  o'  his  ain  to  provide  for 
without  meddling  wi'  the  likes  o'  you  —  careless,  useless, 
fushionless  blaygaird  that  ye  are." 

Mistress  Mac  Walter  had  sat  down  on  her  stool  to  the 
milking  by  this  time.  But  her  temper  was  such  that  she 
was  milking  harshly  and  unkindly,  and  Crummie  felt  it. 
Also  she  had  not  forgotten  in  her  slow-moving  bovine  way 
that  she  had  been  kicked.     So  in  her  turn  she  lifted  her 


THE    NE'ER-DO-WEEL  217 

foot  and  let  drive,  punctuating  a  gigantic  semicolon  with 
her  cloven  hoof  just  on  that  part  of  the  person  of  Mistress 
Mac  Walter  where  it  was  fitted  to  take  most  effect. 

Mistress  Mac  Walter  found  herself  on  her  back,  with  the 
warm  froth  of  the  milk  running  all  over  her.  She  picked 
herself  up,  helped  by  Kit,  who  had  come  to  her  assistance. 

Her  Avords  were  few,  but  not  at  all  well-ordered.  She 
went  to  the  byre  door  to  get  the  driving-stick  to  lay  on 
Crummie.     Kit  stopped  her. 

"  Ye'Il  pit  a'  the  kye  to  that  o't  that  they'll  no  let  doon 
a  drap  o'  milk  this  morning.     An'  the  morn's  kirning-day." 

Mistress  MacWalter  knew  that  the  boy  was  right;  but 
she  could  only  turn,  not  subdue  her  anger.  So  she  turned 
it  on  Kit  Kennedy,  for  there  was  no  one  else  there. 

''Ye  meddlin'  curse,"  she  cried,  "it  was  a'  your  blame." 
She  had  the  shank  of  the  byre  besom  in  her  hand  as  she 
spoke.  With  this  she  struck  at  the  boy,  who  ducked  his 
head  and  hollowed  his  back  in  a  manner  which  showed 
great  practice  and  dexterity.  The  blow  fell  obliquely  on 
his  coat,  making  a  resounding  noise,  but  doing  no  great 
harm. 

Then  Mistress  MacWalter  picked  up  her  stool  and  sat 
down  to  another  cow.  Kit  drew  in  to  Crummie,  and  the 
twain  comforted  one  another.  Kit  bore  no  malice,  but  he 
hoped  that  his  mistress  would  not  keep  back  his  porridge. 
That  was  what  he  feared.  No  other  word  of  good  or  bad 
said  the  goodwife  of  Loch  Spellanderie  by  the  Water  of 
Ken.  Kit  carried  the  two  great  reaming  cans  of  fresh 
milk  into  the  milk-house;  and  as  he  came  out  empty- 
handed  Mistress  MacWalter  waited  for  him,  and  with  a 
hand  both  hard  and  heavy  fetched  him  a  ringing  blow  on 
the  side  of  the  head,  which  made  his  teeth  clack  together 
and  his  eyes  water. 

"Tak'  that,  ye  gangrel  loon!"  she  said,  '^ye  are  aye  in 
some  mischief !" 

Kit  Kennedy  went  into  the  barn  with  fell  purpose  in  his 


218  KIT    KENNEDY 

heart.  He  set  up  on  end  a  bag  of  chaff,  which  had  been 
laid  aside  to  fill  a  bed.  He  squared  up  to  it  in  a  deadly- 
way,  dancing  lightly  on  his  feet,  his  hands  revolving  in  a 
most  knowing  manner. 

His  left  hand  shot  out,  and  the  sack  of  chaff  went  over 
in  the  corner. 

"Stand  np,  Mistress  Mac  Walter,"  said  Kit,  ''an'  we'll 
see  wha's  the  better  man." 

It  was  evidently  Kit  who  was  the  better  man,  for  the 
sack  subsided  repeatedly  and  flaccidly  on  the  hard-beaten 
earthen  floor.  So  in  effigy  Kit  mauled  Mistress  Mac- 
Walter  exceeding  shamefully,  and  obtained  so  many  vic- 
tories over  that  lady  that  he  grew  quite  pleased  with  him- 
self, and  in  time  gat  him  into  such  a  glow  that  he  forgot 
all  about  the  tingling  on  his  ear  which  had  so  suddenly 
begun  at  the  milk-house  door, 

"  After  a',  she  keeps  me  !"  said  Kit  Kennedy,  cheer- 
fully. 

There  was  another  angel  up  aloft  who  went  into  the  inner 
CO  art  at  that  moment  and  told  that  Kit  Kennedy  had  for- 
given his  enemies.  Being  a  sympathetic  recorder  he  said 
nothing  about  the  chaff  sack.  So  Kit  Kennedy  began  the 
day  with  a  clean  slate  and  a  ringing  ear. 

He  went  to  the  kitchen  door  to  go  in  and  get  his  break- 
fast. 

"  Gae  'way  wi'  ye  !  Hoo  daur  ye  come  to  my  door  after 
what  yer  wark  has  been  this  mornin'  ?"  cried  Mistress 
Mac  Walter  as  soon  as  she  heard  him.  "Aff  to  the  schule 
wi'  ye  !    Ye  get  neither  bite  nor  sup  in  my  hoose  the  day." 

The  three  Mac  Walter  children  were  sitting  at  the  table 
taking  their  porridge  and  milk  with  horn  spoons.  The 
ham  was  skirling  and  frizzling  in  the  pan.  It  gave  out  a 
good  smell,  but  that  did  not  cost  Kit  Kennedy  a  thought. 
He  knew  that  that  was  not  for  the  like  of  him.  He  would  as 
soon  have  thought  of  wearing  a  white  linen  shirt  or  having 
the  lairdship  of  a  barony  as  of  getting  ham  to  his  break- 


THE    NE'ER-DO-WEEL  219 

fast.  But  after  his  morning's  work  ho  had  a  sore  heart 
enough  to  miss  his  porridge. 

But  he  knew  that  it  was  no  use  to  argue  with  Mistress 
MacWalter.  So  he  went  outside  and  walked  up  and  down 
in  the  snow.  He  heard  the  clatter  of  dishes  as  the  chil- 
dren Eob,  Jock,  and  Meysie  MacWalter  finished  their  eat- 
ing, and  Meysie  set  their  bowls  one  within  the  other  and 
carried  them  into  the  back-kitchen  to  be  ready  for  the 
washing.  Meysie  was  now  nearly  fourteen  and  was  Kit's 
very  good  friend.  Jock  and  Rob,  on  the  other  hand,  ran 
races  who  should  have  most  tales  to  tell  of  his  misdoings 
at  home  and  also  at  the  village  school. 

"Kit  Kennedy,  ye  scoondrel,  come  in  this  meenit  an' 
get  the  dishes  washen  afore  yer  maister  tak's  the  '  Bulk,'" 
cried  Mistress  MacWalter,  who  was  a  religious  woman,  and 
"came  forward"  regularly  at  the  half-yearly  communion 
in  the  kirk  of  Duntochar.  She  did  not  so  much  grudge 
Kit  his  meal  of  meat,  but  she  had  her  own  theories  of  pun- 
ishment. So  she  called  Kit  in  to  wash  the  dishes  from 
which  he  had  never  eaten.  Meysie  stood  beside  them  and 
dried  for  him,  and  her  little  heart  Avas  sore.  There  was 
something  in  the  bottom  of  some  of  them,  and  this  Kit 
ate  quickly  and  furtively,  Meysie  keeping  a  watch  that  her 
mother  was  not  looking.  The  day  was  now  fairly  broken, 
but  the  sun  had  not  yet  risen. 

'•'  Tak'  the  pot  oot  an'  clean  it.  Gie  the  scrapin's  to  the 
dogs  !"  ordered  Mistress  MacWalter. 

Kit  obeyed.  Tyke  and  Tweed  followed  with  their  tails 
over  their  backs.  The  white  wastes  glimmered  in  the 
gray  of  the  morning.  It  was  rosy  where  the  sun  was  going 
to  rise  behind  the  great  ridge  of  Ben  Cairn,  which  looked, 
smoothly  covered  with  snow  as  it  was,  exactly  like  a  gi- 
gantic turnip-pit.  At  the  back  of  the  milk-house  Kit  set 
down  the  pot,  and  with  a  horn  spoon  which  he  took  from 
his  pocket  he  shared  the  "scrapings"  of  the  pot  equally 
into  three  parts,  dividing  it  mathematically  by  lines  drawn 


220  KIT    KENNEDY 

up  from  the  bottom.  It  was  a  good  big  pot,  and  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  scrapings,  which  was  lucky  for  both 
Tweed  and  Tyke,  as  well  as  good  for  Kit  Kennedy. 

Now  this  was  the  way  that  Kit  Kennedy — that  kinless 
loon,  without  father  or  name — won  his  breakfast. 

He  had  hardly  finished  and  licked  the  spoon,  the  dogs 
sitting  on  their  haunches  and  watching  every  rise  and  fall 
of  the  horn,  when  a  well-known  voice  shrilled  through  the 
air. 

"  Kit  Kennedy,  ye  lazy,  ungrateful  hound,  come  ben  to 
the  ^Buik,"  Ye  are  no  better  than  the  beasts  that  joerish, 
regardless  baitli  o'  God  and  man  !" 

So  Kit  Kennedy  cheerfully  went  into  prayers  and  thanks- 
giving, thinking  himself  not  ill  off.  He  had  had  his  break- 
fast. 

And  Tweed  and  Tyke,  the  beasts  that  perish,  put  their 
noses  into  the  porridge-pot  to  see  if  Kit  Kennedy  had  left 
anything.  There  was  not  so  much  as  a  single  grain  of 
meal. 


^ 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

kit's  classical  tutor 

On"CE  fairly  settled  Kit  carried  ont  his  intention  of  let- 
ting his  grandfather  know  of  the  situation  he  had  found, 
and  his  Uncle  Rob  was  despatched  to  report.  Upon  his 
return  the  young  forester  allayed  the  fears  of  Kit's  mother 
and  the  Elder, 

''  He'll  hae  his  ain  battles  to  fecht,  and  his  troubles  will 
no  be  to  seek.  But  the  man  is  an  honest  man,  though  the 
woman  is  an  ill-tongued  tairger.  But  I  wad  let  him  bide 
awhile.  The  boy  wasna  learnin'  muckle  at  the  schule 
onyway  !" 

These  tidings  were  duly  conveyed  to  Kirkoswald,  and  in 
her  heart  Lilias  rejoiced  that  her  boy  was  at  a  distance 
from  the  district,  and,  as  she  hoped,  beyond  the  reach  of 
Christopher  Kennedy. 

Had  she  known  how  at  that  moment  Kit  was  lying  prone 
on  his  face  on  a  pile  of  corn-bags  in  the  barn  of  Cairnharrow 
listening  to  the  tramp  as,  in  a  rapid,  clean-cut  voice  he  ran 
over  certain  unknown  words,  Lilias  MacWalter  might  not 
have  been  so  easy  in  her  mind. 

It  had  happened  in  this  wise. 

Heather  Jock's  hint  had  borne  immediate  fruit.  John 
Rogerson,  more  commonly  called  in  Galloway  fashion 
"Cairnharrow"  after  the  name  of  his  farm,  had  got  a 
*'spelk  of  wood,  into  his  hand,"  which  in  the  busy  season 
put  him  at  a  sore  disadvantage.  The  tramp  was  not  strong 
and  had  had  little  experience  of  farm  work,  but  he  was 


222  KITKENNEDY 

both  cheap  and  willing,  and  at  least  well  worth  a  trial.  So 
his  sister  said,  and  so  also,  after  due  demur,  Cairnharrow 
himself  allowed. 

In  this  fashion  did  John  Smith  become  odd,  or  more 
technically  "orra,"  man  about  the  farm-house  of  Cairn- 
harrow, a  larger  and  better  holding  than  that  of  Loch 
Spellanderie. 

Throughout  the  winter  that  excellent  optimist,  Kit 
Kennedy,  dreed  his  weird  with  Mistress  Mac  Walter,  and 
the  work — indeed  all  work — came  easily  to  him.  His  mis- 
tress, it  is  true,  had  early  stopped  him  from  attending  the 
village  school,  nominally  because  he  was  a  hired  boy  and 
could  not  be  spared,  but  chiefly  because  his  quickness  put 
to  shame  Saft  Tam  and  Tatie  Rob,  the  younger  children  of 
his  master.  So,  nothing  loath,  Kit  Kennedy  abode  at 
home. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  he  met  the  new  odd 
man  of  Cairnharrow.  It  was  at  the  smiddy  in  the  village 
of  Saint  John,  and  the  Cairnliarrow  man  was  driving  a  cart 
in  which  he  was  to  take  back  a  plough  that  had  been  re- 
paired. Kit  had  come  in  with  a  coulter  which  needed 
sharpening. 

Now  the  ''^smiddy"  of  all  Scottish  villages  is  at  once 
local  parliament  and  club-house.  To  its  privileges  mem- 
bers are  duly  elected.  They  are  also  frequently  black- 
balled. They  may  even  be  expelled.  Each  man  has  his 
place  and  privileges  clearly  defined.  The  miller  may  no 
more  sit  in  the  joiner's  place  than  Gavin  Strang  the  wrigh't 
may  usurp  the  broken  anvil  by  the  hearth,  which  is  the 
perquisite  of  the  smith  himself  in  his  infrequent  spells  of 
leisure. 

Every  one's  character  is  discussed,  their  j^rospects,  tem- 
per, habits  —  if  they  lie  abed  in  the  morning,  if  they  are 
over-promiscuous  in  their  nocturnal  roamings,  if  they  look 
several  times  at  a  penny  before  parting  with  it.  All'  these 
peculiarities  are  i;eferred  to  in  the  dry  allusive  way  charac- 


KIT'S    CLASSICAL    TUTOR  223 

teristic  of  the  humor  of  the  Scottish  peasant  —  a  saying  a 
thing  without  saying  it,  as  it  were. 

"  Guid-een  to  you,  laddie,"  said  the  smith,  big  Andro 
Hutcheon,  the  most  mighty  son  of  Tubal  in  all  Galloway, 
^'ye  come  frae  Loch  Spellanderie.  How  do  ye  draw  wi' 
the  mistress  ?  Fine,  ye  say  ?  Weel,  ye  maun  be  an  easily 
contented  laddie.  Ye  dinna  want  to  be  'prenticed  to  a 
fine  smith  business,  do  ye  ?  This  loon  o'  mine  is  aye  grum- 
blin'.  He  should  hae  a  tack  o'  Mistress  Mac  Walter.  But 
she's  a  fine  woman,  too — certes  !  They  tell  me  that  she 
pared  the  nebs  o'  her  deuks  (her  ducks'  bills)  to  a  point  so 
that  they  wadna  eat  so  muckle  meat.  It  was  a  peety  that 
they  a'  deed  before  she  got  time  to  see  hoo  the  plan  wad 
work." 

The  Cairnharrow  cart  stopped  at  the  door,  and  the  late 
tramp,  now  a  very  different  figure  from  the  one  of  the  Eter- 
nal quarry,  looked  gravely  in. 

"Is  that  pleucli  dune  yet  ?"  he  cried,  in  the  local  speech, 
for  he  had  an  ear  for  languages,  and  a  new  tang  of  rustic 
speech  came  as  apt  upon  his  tongue  as  if  it  had  been  Greek 
dialect  in  the  days  when  young  Chris  Kennedy  of  S^nd- 
haven  won  college  medals  by  the  handful. 

"  Come  awa',  man  !"  cried  the  smith,  who  was  for  the 
moment  seated  on  his  anvil,  "  tell  us  what's  a'  the  news 
aboot  Cairnharrow.  The  joiner  there  was  juist  sayin'  what 
an  extraordinary  fine  woman  be  considered  your  neighbor. 
Mistress  Mac  Walter,  ower  by  at  Lock  Spellanderie." 

"  We  are  a'  weel  up  oor  road,  except  the  maister,"  said 
the  "Orra  Man,"  cautiously  ;  "  is  the  pleuch  dune,  smith  ?" 

"  What's  your  hurry  ?  Stop  and  gie's  your  crack,"  re- 
turned Hutcheon,  who  took  it  almost  as  a  personal  affront 
that  any  one  should  leave  his  smiddy  under  an  hour. 

"I  canna  bide  the  nicht,"  said  the  Cairnharrow  man, 
recognizing  the  obligation  and  excusing  himself,  "  I  hae  to 
be  hame  to  fodder  the  beasts  and  supper  the  horse.  The 
maister  is  laid  up  wi'  an  awf  n'  sair  hand  !" 


224  KIT    KENNEDY 

"D'ye  tell  me  sae  ?"  cried  the  smith.  ''I  missed  him 
oot  o'  the  kirk — no  that  that's  ocht  to  gang  by.  But  I 
haena  seen  him  at  the  Cross  Keys  for  a  hale  fortnicht,  and 
the  like  hasna  happened  for  thirty  year.  Ye  are  no  a 
drinker,  I'm  thinkin' !" 

The  smith  turned  to  the  "  Orra  Man  "  as  he  spoke. 

"No,"  he  answered,  quietly,  "  I  do  not  drink." 

Something  in  the  accent  or  the  Englishy  pronunciation 
of  the  words  attracted  the  attention  of  the  entire  parlia- 
ment. Each  man  glanced  at  his  neighbor,  though  no  man 
said  a  word.  In  that  eye-passage  the  whole  smiddy  com- 
pared notes,  and  were  of  opinion  that,  if  the  new  Cairn- 
harrow  man  liked  to  speak,  they  would  listen  to  a  tale 
worth  hearing. 

But  it  was  not  to  be  that  night.  For  the  messenger  per- 
sisting, and  the  horse  outside  growing  restless,  the  plough 
was  lifted  bodily  into  the  cart,  and  the  "  Orra  Man  "  made 
haste  to  set  out.  Suddenly  he  seemed  to  remembei"  the 
boy  from  Loch  Spellanderie. 

"Will  ye  be  lang,  laddie?"  he  asked,  looking  back 
through  the  red  comfortable  door  of  the  forge. 

"  Peter  will  hae  the  coulter  dune  in  a  minute,"  said  the 
smith,  and  for  once  Peter  proved  as  good  as  his  master's 
word.  He  had  the  coulter  finished,  and  Kit  found  him- 
self seated  in  the  red  farm  cart  beside  the  tramp,  both 
horse  and  cart  clacking  slowly  up  the  road  under  the  frosty 
stars  of  a  winter's  night. 

Kit,  in  high  spirits  at  the  unexpected  "lift"  and  the 
pleasant  consciousness  that  it  was  yet  a  long  way  to  Loch 
Spellanderie,  chattered  incessantly  of  himself,  of  his  grand- 
father, of  his  grandmother,  of  Betty  Landsborough,  and 
somewhat  more  reservedly  of  Mistress  Mac  Walter  and  the 
household  at  the  farm  by  the  loch  side. 

The  elder  of  the  pair  was  a  little  uneasy  till  he  reached 
the  bright  lights  of  the  Cross  Keys.  The  tramp  drew  up 
half  unconsciously.     Then  he  laid  the  reins  on  the  neck  of 


KIT'S    CLASSICAL    TUTOR  225 

the  horse,  took  them  up  again,  and  drove  resolutely  past. 
Kit  and  he  could  hoar  the  murmur  of  many  voices  within, 
and  the  public  rooms  were  bursting  with  lights.  But  the 
ex-tramp  drove  steadily  on. 

Then  quite  abru2)tly  he  addressed  his  first  question  to 
the  boy. 

"  Is  your  father  dead  ?" 

Kit  stammered,  and  in  the  friendly  dark  blushed  also. 
This  was  a  different  thing  to  Mistress  Mac  Walter's  voluble 
reproaches. 

"  My  grandfather  telled  me  that  he  was  dead  '."  he  said 
at  last. 

''  And  your  mother — is  she  dead,  too  ?"  continued  the 
tramp,  in  the  pursuit  of  his  purpose  ignoring  any  pain  he 
might  be  causing. 

"My  raither  is  not  dead,"  murmured  Kit;  "she  is  mar- 
ried I"  But  he  said  it  sadly,  as  if  the  two  things  were 
much  the  same.  As,  save  for  a  soul's  continuing  agony, 
they  were  indeed  in  Lilias's  case. 

The  tramp  thought  a  while  and  then  continued,  "  Do 
you  want  to  be  a  farm  boy  all  your  life  ?" 

Kit  explained  that  first  of  all  he  was  not  going  to  be  a 
burden  on  his  grandparents,  and  went  on  to  tell  how  he 
had  run  away  from  home  that  he  might  be  able  to  repay 
some  of  the  money  they  had  spent  on  him. 

"Would  you  like  to  learn  Latin  ?"  said  the  tramp,  as  the 
snowfiakes  began  to  swirl  in  their  faces,  and  the  patient 
beast,  hitherto  jogging  quietly  between  the  shafts,  tossed 
her  forelock  to  clear  the  white  drift  from  before  her  eyes. 

"Aye,  I  wad  that,"  cried  Kit,  eagerly,  "  but  wha  is  to  learn 
me  ?  The  maister  here  canna,  and  besides,  the  mistress 
wadna  let  me  gang  to  the  schule  if  he  could." 

'■'I  Avill  teach  you,"  said  the  "Orra  man,"  calmly. 

"You!"  cried  Kit,  astonished,  "I  didna  ken  that  ye 
could  read  even.     Are  ye  a  learned  man,  then  ?" 

The  ex-tramp  laughed  a  curious  little  laugh. 

15 


226  KIT    KENNEDY 

''You  ixro  thinking  tluit  it  has  not  done  much  for  me," 
he  said. 

"Oh,  no/' said  Kit,  politely,  "1  was  tliinkin'  that  my 
maister  said  ye  were  a  guid  worker,  and  he  thocht  Cairn- 
harrow  would  be  wise  to  keep  ye  !" 

It  was  long  since  the  tramp  had  heard  any  man,  still  one 
like  John  MacWalter,  praise  his  worth  and  faithfulness. 
The  boy's  words  marked  a  distinct  step  in  his  upward  way. 
He  was  glad  now  that  he  had  driven  straight  past  the  Cross 
Keys. 

"Listen,"  said  John  Smith,  "put  that  sack  round  your 
shoulders.  This  way  !  Now  come  nearer  me."  He  put  his 
arm  about  the  boy,  and,  after  a  moment  of  awkwardness. 
Kit  felt  strangely  at  ease.  He  wished  the  road  to  Loch 
Spellanderie  had  been  thrice  as  long  and  difficult. 

"You  must  say  nothing  of  this  to  any  one,"  said  the 
"Orra  Man,"  in  a  voice  which  Kit  could  hear  clearly  above 
the  sough  and  rush  of  the  storm,  "  I  have  Avasted  my  own 
chances.  But  if  yon  are  the  lad  I  take  you  for  I  am  going 
to  see  that  you  don't  waste  yours.  I  will  teach  you  Latin 
and  Greek." 

"I  ken  ' Penna,  a  pen,' already,"  said  Kit,  whose  ears 
had  been  sharp  while  Duncan  Duncanson  took  his  one 
"Latin  boy"  through  a  revisal  of  the  declensions. 

The  "  Orra  Man"  laughed  a  little. 

"  That  is  always  a  beginning,"  said  he. 

"  But  1  hae  nae  bulks,"  said  Kit,  mournfully,  "and  I'll 
hae  juist  to  come  to  you  when  Mistress  MacWalter  will  let 
me." 

"We  won't  need  books  for  a  while,  and  I'll  speak  to 
your  master  when  I  see  him,"  answered  the  "Orra  Man." 

"When  will  you  begin  ?" 

"If  ye  please,  I'll  begin  the  noo,"  said  Kit,  nestling 
closer  to  this  wonderful  "Orra  Man"  who  knew  Greek  and 
Latin  and  was  willing  to  impart  them. 

So  there  amid  the   swirl  and  roar  of  the  winter  snow- 


KIT'S    CLASSICAL    TUTOR  227 

storm  Kit  had  his  first  lesson  in  tlic  language,  a  knowl- 
edge of  which  is  universally  believed  in  Scotland  to  unlock 
the  doors  of  success  in  every  profession.  The  minutes 
sped  all  too  rapidly,  but  he  knew  ^'•Penna"  completely  in 
all  its  cases  by  the  time  the  marc  stopped  at  the  loaning 
end  of  Loch  Spellanderie,  and  Kit  got  down  most  unwill- 
ingly, but  with  a  strange  upleaping  elation  at  his  heart. 

"  Guid-nicht  I"  he  cried  up  to  the  white-swathed  figure 
of  the  "  Orra  Man  "  which  came  between  him  and  the  black 
sky,  "  till  the  morn's  nicht  at  the  Black  Sheds  !" 

"Good-night  —  think  well  over  what  I  said  about  the 
Accusative  !" 

It  was  no  longer  the  voice  of  the  "  Orra  Man"  of  Cairn- 
harrow  which  answered  Kit  from  the  red  cart,  but  the 
voice  of  Christopher  Kennedy,  B.A.,  formerly  classical 
master  in  the  Academy  of  Cairn  Edward,  now  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  acting  as  private  tutor. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

"  p  E  isr  N  A,    A    pen" 

^'Shake  yoursel'  weel,  na,  an'  knock  your  great  clamper- 
in'  feet  on  the  door-step,"  cried  the  voice  of  Mistress  Mac- 
Walter,  as  Kit  laid  his  fingers  on  the  latch  of  the  kitchen 
door.  '' Whaur  hae  ye  been  a'  this  time  ?  D'ye  think  that 
I  pay  you  good  siller  and  feed  ye  np  wi'  the  best  of  meat 
for  you  to  gallivant  aboot  the  countryside  ?" 

"  Penna,  a  pen;  Pennae,  of  a  pen." 

Kit  murmured  Avhat  he  had  learned  in  the  cart  like  a 
kind  of  conjuration  to  ward  off  evil. 

"What's  that  ye  are  sayin' — mutterin'  ower  ill  words  to 
yoursel',  I'se  warrant  ?  John  Mac  Walter,  I  dinna  ken  what 
ye  were  thinking  on  to  let  siccan  an  ill-tongued  wratch  into 
your  hoose,  corruptin'  your  innocent  weans  and  abusin' 
your  married  wife  to  her  verra  face  !" 

Kit  went  quietly  to  a  seat  at  the  end  of  the  table,  having 
deposited  the  coulter  in  the  outer  dark  of  the  back-kitchen, 
a  place  filled  with  a  dismal  debris  of  pots  and  pans,  dish- 
cloths, broken  paraffin  lamps,  old  boots,  new  blacking,  iron 
girdles,  and  wash-tubs. 

''Come  oot  o'  that !"  cried  the  shrill  voice  of  his  mistress 
as  soon  as  he  had  seated  himself  near  the  lamp,  emphasiz- 
ina:  the  order  with  a  cufi:  on  the  ear  which  made  the  water 
stand  in  Kit's  eyes  ;  "  that's  where  Johnnie,  puir  lad,  is 
doin'  his  lessons,  as  brawly  ye  ken.  Ye  wad  like  him  to 
sit  doon  amang  a'  the  wat  snaw  ye  hae  brocht  trailin'  in  wi' 
ye,  and  get  his  death  o'  cauld.  That's  what  wad  pleasure 
the  like  o'  you  !" 


"PENNA,   A    TEN"  229 

" Pennae,  pons;  Pennarum,  of  j>ens." 

"  Gang  and  sit  by  the  door  and  be  thankfu'  that  ye  hae 
a  meal  o'  meat  to  eat  in  a  decent  God-fearin'  hoose,  which 
is  niair  nor  a  nameless,  kinless  loon  like  you  has  ony  riclit 
to  expect.  And  no  a  word  oot  o'  the  head  o'  ye,  pervertin' 
the  minds  o'  my  innocent  bairns  and  bringing  disgrace  on 
your  maister,  that  may  be  an  elder  o'  the  parish  in  twa- 
three  year,  gin  he  keeps  in  wi'  the  minister  and  the 
factor  !" 

Kit  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  sat  liumbly  down  on  a  low 
settle  by  the  door,  a  place  where  he  was  little  likely  to  be 
disturbed  by  Johnnie  or  any  otlier,  for  there  the  winter's 
blast  poured  freely  down  the  back  of  his  neck  round  the 
open  door  which  separated  the  inner  from  the  outer 
kitchen. 

Meysie  MacWalter,  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  house, 
now  grown  into  a  tall  slip  of  a  girl,  brought  him  his  por- 
ridge. This  was,  as  usual,  composed  of  the  scraps  and  bot- 
tomings  of  bowls  which  had  been  left  unfinished  by  the 
rest  of  the  household.  But  when  the  mothers  back  was 
turned,  Meysie,  who  had  her  own  A'iews  as  to  Kit's  merits, 
poured  over  all  a  generons  "jaw"  of  new  milk  not  un- 
mingled  with  cream.  So  that  Kit  fared  for  that  night  like 
a  prince — indeed,  better  than  many  princes. 

And  the  fact  that  his  ear  tingled  from  the  hard  palm  of 
Mistress  MacWalter  was  no  more  regarded  by  him  than  the 
buffet  of  the  storm  he  had  left  behind  him.  Kit  was  of  the 
bright  nature  which  takes  the  universe  as  it  rolls.  And  he 
was  not  unwilling  to  count  the  hardness  of  his  mistress's 
hand  as  part  of  the  scheme  of  things.  He  did  not  com- 
plain. He  could  take  it  out  of  the  bag  of  chaff  in  the  barn 
afterwards.  And  besides,  was  there  not  his  new  amulet 
of  safety  —  "  Pennae,  pennarum,  pennis,  pennas,  pennae, 
pennis  f 

Mistress  MacWalter  thought  that  Kit  did  not  care  for 
reading,  or  she  would  have  locked  up  every  book  about  the 


230  KIT    KENNEDY 

house  of  Loch  Spellanderie.  And  Kit,  wo  may  be  sure, 
with  such  a  privation  before  him,  did  not  flaunt  his  ac- 
complishments in  her  presence. 

The  proceedings  of  the  ''Orra  Man  "  on  the  day  after 
the  snowy  night  journey  with  Kit  were  very  peculiar.  It 
was  market  day  at  the  town,  and  he  went  down  wath  his 
master  from  Cairnharrow.  He  Avanted  to  buy  some  winter 
things,  he  said.  And  indeed  his  wardrobe  was  somewhat 
scanty.  Mr.  Eogerson  advanced  his  '' orra "  man  some 
money  on  the  strength  of  work  yet  to  be  done,  a  dangerous 
thing  in  the  case  of  many  "  orra  "  men,  who  have  mostly 
not  been  in  regular  places  before,  and  whose  roots  are 
therefore  not  set  very  deep  in  the  soil. 

"  Dinna  be  drinkin'  it  a',"  said  his  master.  "  Better 
buy  your  winter  gear  first !" 

He  knew  the  nature  of  ''  orra"  men. 

But  John  Smith  did  not  at  once  proceed  to  buy  winter 
clothing.  He  skirmished  this  way  and  that  through  the 
lanes  about  the  Venuel  till  he  lighted  upon  an  old  dingy 
shop,  in  the  window  of  which  Avere  several  books,  a  bat- 
tered brass  fender,  some  unmatched  cups  and  saucers,  a 
pile  of  dingy  carpets,  and  a  paraffin  lamp  without  a  globe. 

The  "  Orra  Man  "  entered  and  spoke  thus  to  the  owner 
of  all  these:  "^  Have  you  any  Latin  dictionaries  or  gram- 
mars ?" 

The  shabby  old  man  in  list  slippers,  who  had  come 
stumbling  and  snuffling  out  of  a  back  room,  shook  his 
head. 

"What  ken  I?"  he  said;  ''she's  away  frae  hame  the 
day.     Ye  can  look  for  yourscl'." 

With  this  permission  the  "Orra  Man,"  keenly  watched 
by  the  ancient  long-coated  guardian  of  the  shop,  looked 
over  the  dusty  books  Avhich  were  piled  higgledy-piggledy 
beneath  the  counter  and  behind  the  door,  mostly  tied  iu 
bundles  with  string.     He  handled  them   with  the  swift 


"PENNA,    A    PEN"  231 

delicate  art  of  a  lover,  blowing  the  dust  from  the  top,  and 
running  his  finger  along  the  right-hand  page  to  be  ready 
for  turning  as  he  read. 

The  old  man  watched  him  for  a  little  and  then  said, 
"  Ye  are  a  queer  ploughman  to  be  seekin'  Laitin  diction- 
aries !" 

The  "  Orra  Man  "  did  not  hear  him.  He  was  shaking 
his  head  over  a  doubtful  note  in  an  edition  of  Suetonius. 

"■  It  will  not  do — clever — undoubtedly  clever.  But  it 
will  not  do  \" 

"It  winna  do,  will  it  not?"  said  the  old  man;  "then 
maybe  you  will  find  something  there  mair  to  your  taste, 
since  you  are  so  ill  to  please !" 

As  he  spoke  he  threw  open  an  upper  glazed  cupboard, 
and  row  upon  row  of  classical  books  were  disclosed. 

''There,"  cried  the  old  man,  laughing  senilely,  ''if  you 
set  up  for  a  learned  man,  there's  something  to  bite  on. 
She  bocht  them  at  the  sale  o'  a  dominie  that  ran  awa  frae 
Cairn  Edward  a  lang  while  since — made  a  munelicht  flittin', 
that  is.  You'll  see  his  name  on  the  boards.  He  was  just 
desperate  for  debt  they  say  !" 

And  the  "  Orra  Man,"  opening  the  nearest  volume  with 
a  queer  constriction  of  the  heart,  read  the  name  written 
within.     It  was 

Christopher  Kennedy,  B.A., 

on  a  neat,  blue-edged  oblong,  and  on  a  flyleaf  a  Greek  ode 
to  Lilias  Armour's  eyes,  Avhich  he  had  scribbled  in  pencil 
as  he  lay  waiting  for  her  one  day  high  up  on  the  Dornal 
moor. 

"Are  ye  a  buyer  or  are  ye  not?  I  canna  bide  a'  day 
frae  the  fire  on  siccan  a  cauld  mornin'  as  this,  so  I'm  tellin' 
ye :" 

The  creaking  tones  of  the  old  shopman  awakened  the 
"  Orra  Man."     "  I  cannot  buy  them  all,"  he  said  ;  "  I  have 


232  KIT    KENNEDY 

not  the  money.     But  I  want  to  buy  them  one  by  one  if  yon 
will  keep  them  for  me." 

"  Diniia  fret ;  they'll  keep  themsel's  easy  enench  in  the 
toon  o'  Dumfries.  There's  nae  run  on  the  dead  lan^uaofes 
in  Dumfries.  Bibles  are  drug  stock,  and  even  Shakespeare 
— man,  I  dinna  think  we  hae  selled  yin  o'  him  for  twenty 
year,  except  a  big  bound  copy  to  Kob  Veitch,  the  hosier, 
tluit  he  uses  to  keep  his  letters  doon  on  his  desk,  and  to 
throw  at  the  dogs  that  come  snuffin'  aboot  the  Avicks  o'  his 
shop  door." 

This  being  tliQ  state  of  the  literary  market  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, the  "  Orra  man"  carried  away  on  easy  terms  Rid- 
dle's Latin  Dictionary,  Dunbar's  Greek  Lexicon,  a  couple 
of  Edinburgh  Academy's  Rudiments  (arid  but  unequalled 
schoolbooks),  Ga3sar,  Livy,  and  (what  was  a  sacrifice  to 
Ills  own  desires)  a  pretty  little  Elzevir  Horace  which  he 
had  often  seen  in  his  dreams  during  the  last  sad  years. 

But  John  Smith  went  back  to  the  yard  where  he  had  put 
up  his  beast  without  a  farthing  even  to  pay  the  hostler,  and 
naturally  without  having  added  one  stitch  to  his  stock  of 
winter  clothing. 

Yet  the  •'^Orra  Man"  was  thrice  wrapped  in  joy. 

It  was  an  untiiought-of  chance,  though  of  course  natu- 
ral enough,  that  the  old  "general  dealer"  of  Dumfries 
should  have  picked  up  the  classical  books  which  no  one 
else  wanted,  and  that  he  should  have  preserved  them  ever 
since  in  a  dusty  cupboard  of  his  back-shop.  But  to  the 
classical  master  it  seemed  of  the  best  omen.  It  broujrht 
him,  in  his  own  esteem,  within  measurable  distance  of  his 
old  position,  and  he  could  hardly  wait  for  the  seclusion  of 
liis  "stable  laft"  before  turning  to  his  favorite  passages, 
and  verifying  the  exactness  of  certain  quotations  which  had 
been  grains  of  gold  to  him  in  the  dark  days  of  the  under- 
world. 

A  somewhat  shy  and  reserved  man  was  the  new  "  Orra 
Man"  among  his  follows,  "a  wool  learnit  man"  they  told 


"PENNA,    A    PEN"  233 

each  other  when  sizing  np  the  new  comer,  "a  great  reader 
and  juist  Avonderfu'  weel  informed — kenned  nocht  about 
farm  wark  when  he  cam'  to  Cairnharrow.  But  he  was 
quick  to  learn — faith,  tliere's  little  that  he  canna  set  his 
hand  to  noo  !" 

On  the  whole  exceedingly  well  liked  was  the  "  Orra 
Man,"  but  accounted  to  have  a  bee  in  his  bonnet  or  such 
a  learned  man  would  never  be  where  he  was  this  day.  Yet 
in  such  repute  and  serious  respect  is  learning  (or  even  the 
report  of  it)  held  in  Scotland,  that  there  was  not  a  man 
but  would  have  stopped  half  an  hour  longer  or  risen  half 
an  hour  sooner  to  help  John  Smith  with  his  work  about 
the  stables  or  in  the  fields. 

"  He's  no  used  to  it  like  us  !"  these  kindly  hearty  farm 
lads  would  say  ;  "  what  can  a  learned  man  ken  aboot  skail- 
in'  middens  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

KIT   GOES   HOME. 

There  was  one  goal  which  his  instrnctor  always  kept 
before  Kit.  Nothing  was  any  use  which  did  not  lead  to  a 
university  education.  And  the  "  Orra  Man  "  had  his  own 
ideas  as  to  how  the  matter  was  to  be  accomplished.  He 
knew  well  that  every  three  years  there  was  a  bursary  open 
to  tlie  whole  of  Galloway — thirty  pounds  a  year  for  four 
years  was  the  amount.  Not  a  fortune,  doubtless,  but  ca- 
pable, with  the  economy  inherent  in  Scottish  youth,  of 
seeing  him  through  his  sessions  at  college. 

The  "  Orra  Man"  resolved  that  his  pupil  should  enter 
for  this  in  three  years.  lie  would  be  fifteen  by  that  time, 
and  just  within  the  standard  of  age. 

"  If  I  cannot  train  one  pupil  better  than  a  man  who 
has  twenty  to  attend  to  my  name  is  not — John  Smith  !"  ho 
said. 

And  though  the  terms  of  the  affirmation  were  dubious, 
the  training  and  discipline  which  Kit  Kennedy  jDrosently 
began  to  undergo  were  of  the  most  severe  and  drastic  kind. 

Both  the  ''Orra  Man"  and  Kit  lived  for  these  stolen 
hours,  when  by  the  light  of  a  stable  lantern  they  read  to- 
gether the  solemn-sounding,  grave-thoughted  Latins,  and 
after  a  while,  with  infinite  stammering,  the  nimble-witted 
Greeks. 

During  all  that  first  winter  Kit  met  his  teacher  every 
night  in  the  Black  Sheds — certain  ramshackle  erections  of 
wood  on  the  boundary  line  of  both  farms.     Here,  wrapped 


KIT    GOES    HOME  235 

in  old  sacks  and  by  the  feeble  shine  of  a  tallow  dip  set  in 
a  stable  lantern.  Kit  mastered  his  verbs,  regular  and  irreg- 
ular, and  so  macadamized  his  way  to  the  Latin  version 
which  he  hoped  one  day  to  write. 

One  night,  however.  Kit  Avaited  long,  listening  in  vain 
for  his  companion.  The  storm  beat  outside,  and  the  wind 
made  eery  noises  among  the  tall  ash-trees  overhead.  Stray 
pieces  of  rotten  branches  struck  the  sheds  at  intervals,  as 
if  some  one  unseen  were  beating  the  roof  with  a  stick.  A 
loose  clap-board  knocked  incessantly  demanding  admission. 
Kit's  hair  almost  stood  on  end,  but  he  conjured  the  ghosts 
aloud  with  "  tnpto"  in  all  its  moods,  tenses,  and  voices.  The 
incantation  was  perfectly  effective,  and  gave  Kit  a  better 
idea  of  the  Greek  language  than  he  had  ever  had  before. 

But  after  all  the  "  Orra  Man  "  did  not  come. 

The  next  night  the  boy  again  waited  in  vain  in  the  tin- 
gling frost  which  had  succeeded  the  rain,  till  his  nose  was 
blue  and  his  fingers  frozen  to  his  palms.  Long  before  nine 
he  had  lost  track  of  his  toes.  But  still  the  preceptor  came 
not.  Kit  tried  "Ino"  on  the  cold,  but  Greek,  though  ex- 
cellent against  the  spirits  that  roam  in  the  dark,  was  but 
a  feeble  protection  against  the  bitterness  of  a  Scottish  win- 
ter, when  the  frost  curls  the  very  leaves  of  the  evergreens 
inward,  and  the  stars  sparkle  aloft  in  the  seven  prismatic 
colors. 

On  the  third  night  the  ''  Orra  Man"  appeared.  His  face 
was  strange  and  drawn,  his  voice  hoarse,  and  whistled  a 
little  as  he  spoke.  He  had  lost  that  straightforwardness 
of  eye  which  had  begun  to  distinguish  him.  He  could  not 
look  his  pupil  in  the  eye. 

''What's  been  the  maitter  ?"  cried  Kit,  anxiously,  as 
soon  as  he  heard  his  foot  on  the  threshold.  "  Hae  ye 
been  ill,  Maister  Smith  ?" 

"  I  have  not  been  ill,"  said  the  "  Orra  Man." 

"  Hae  ye  gotten  your  leave  frae  Cairnharrow  ?" 

The  absentee  did  not  answer,  and  Kit,  with  the  quick 


230  KIT    KENNEDY 

lightness  of  youth,  accepted  silence  as  a  negative,  and 
darted  on  to  what  he  had  been  eager  to  tell. 

"  I  hae  learned  a'  the  rules  ye  gied  me  and  six  pages 
mair.     AYill  ye  hearken  me  ?" 

The  "  Orra  ]\Ian"  reached  his  hand  automatically  for  the 
grammar,  and  Kit  rattled  his  lesson  off.  But  the  teacher 
shut  the  book  without  remark,  to  the  great  disappointment 
of  Kit,  who  had  expected  wonder  and  delight  instead  of 
this  chilling  silence. 

"  Is  it  no  woel  learned  ?  Are  ye  no  pleased  ?"  he  de- 
manded, anxiously.  The  classical  master  did  not  answer. 
His  head  was  bowed  upon  his  hands,  and  when  Kit  looked 
closer  tears  were  trickling  between  his  wasted  fingers. 

"Dinna — dinna  do  that !"  cried  the  boy,  with  the  pained 
consternation  of  youth  amazed  before  an  elder's  tears. 
"  Wliat  gars  ye  do  the  like  o'  that  ?" 

'J'he  "  Orra  Man"  stilled  his  slow,  painful  sobs. 

"Kit,"  he  said,  speaking  with  difficulty,  "I  am  not  fit 
to  sit  beside  you — I — I — I  have  been  drinking  again.  I 
was  drunk  the  night  before  last,  and  was  brought  home  in 
a  cart.  And  Mr.  Rogerson  overlooked  it,  for  the  good  fel- 
lows at  the  farm  had  done  my  work.  They  are  all  better 
men  than  I.  If  your  grandfather  know  the  manner  of  man 
who  was  teaching  you,  he  would  never  let  me  come  near 
you  again." 

"  Maister  Smith,"  said  the  boy,  ''I  yince  heard  the 
doctor  say  that  ye  dinna  get  better  a'  at  yince,  o'  a 
trouble  that  ye  hae  had  for  a  lang  time.  Maybe  ye  hae 
had  this  trouble  a  lang  while,  and  are  no  fairly  better 
yet." 

''Well,"  said  the  "Orra  Man,"  looking  at  Kit  for  the 
first  time,  "let  us  go  on  with  our  work.  I  have  promised, 
and  I  will  keep.  Till  I  see  you  Galloway  bursar — I — FU 
keep  my  promise.    And  then  perhaps  I  shall  be  cured." 

From  this  time  forward  Kit  had  long  days  of  work  and 
short   nights  of   learning  and  sleep.     Little  by  little  he 


KIT    GOES    HOME  237 

escaped  from  the  domains  of  Mistress  MacWaltor  into  the 
larger  liberty  of  the  work  ou  the  farm.  And  that  made  a 
great  change  in  liis  circumstances,  for  John  Mac  Walter, 
thongh  of  no  power  or  authority  within  doors,  could  make 
Kit's  life  infinitely  easier  without.  He  slept  now  in  the 
stable  loft,  and  as  that  opened  above  the  horses  in  the 
stable  Mistress  Mac  Walter  dared  not  go  in  there  to  find 
out  whether  he  was  in  bed  or  not,  a  habit  which  had  em- 
bittered the  first  months  of  his  scholastic  career  in  the 
university  of  the  Black  Sheds. 

Then  Kit  was  growing  rapidly,  and  being  of  a  sturdy 
frame  at  a  year's  end  he  did  almost  a  man's  work. 
And,  for  his  own  sake,  John  MacWalter  insisted  that  Kit 
should  have  his  meals  full  and  regular.  Even  his  mistress 
was  quite  alive  to  the  advantages  of  getting  a  man's  work 
for  a  boy's  wage,  and  now  mostly  took  it  out  of  Kit  with 
her  tongue.  So  that  he  had  no  more  to  share  his  breakfast 
with  the  dogs  out  of  the  three-legged  pot. 

It  was  one  of  Mistress  Mac  Walter's  pet  projects  "to  mak' 
a  minister  out  o'  Jock."  Also  it  was  about  this  time  that 
she  began  to  call  her  eldest  son  Johnny.  Jock  is  not  a  suit- 
able name  for  a  minister  in  the  making. 

Jock  was  a  soft,  underhandish  youth,  lanky  and  stoop- 
shouldered,  a  coward  by  nature  and  a  tale-bearer  by  educa- 
tion. For  this  last  Kit  would  many  a  time  have  "  knocked 
the  head  aif  him"  had  it  not  been  that  he  knew  well  that 
Jock  would  carry  his  grievances  straight  to  his  mother 
within  the  kitchen. 

Johnny  or  Jock  MacWalter  was  accounted  the  best 
scholar  at  the  school  of  Saint  John's  Town,  lie  had  a 
good  memory,  and  his  dominie  was  one  of  the  ancient 
stamp  who  consider  themselves  disgraced  if  they  do  not 
send  a  scholar  every  year  to  the  universities — and  a  bursar 
if  possible.  This  old-fashioned  pedagogue  thought  that  he 
could  make  something  out  of  Jock  MacWalter.  "lie's  no 
what  I  could  wish,  nor  what  I  hac  had  in  the  past.     But 


238  KIT    KENNEDY 

he's  a  fair  ordinary  lad,  and  between  me  and  the  taws  we'll 
maybe  mak'  a  scholar  oot  o'  Jock  yet !" 

Dominie  Peter  MacFayden,  otherwise  known  as  Birsie, 
had  been  dominie  of  St.  John's  Town  for  more  than  two 
generations,  and  he  did  not  despair  of  yet  living  to  tickle 
the  palms  of  his  earliest  pupils'  grandchildren. 

He  had  the  name  of  a  ''graund  teacher" — he  ^'brocht 
the  Aveans  on  fine/'  they  said.  "  He  was  maybe  a  wee  sair 
on  them  at  times.  But  he's  an  auld  man,  and  his  temper 
no  juist  what  it  was." 

"  Dod,  gin  it's  waur  than  it  was  in  my  time  thirty  year 
since,  Guid  peety  the  bairns!  For  a  mair  ill-tempered, 
thrawn  auld  runt  there  wasna  in  braid  Scotland." 

This  was  John  Eogerson's  opinion. 

"  I  am  glad  I  hae  nae  weans,"  he  would  declare,  "  but 
gin  I  had  forty  I  wad  send  them  a'  oot  o'  the  pairish  before 
I  wad  pit  them  at  the  mercy  o'  sic  a  vicious  auld  curmud- 
geon. I  declare  ye  canna  gang  within  a  Sabbath  day's 
journey  o'  Peter's  schule  but  ye  will  see  a  bairn  a'  forgrut- 
ten,  haudin'  its  hand  beloAv  its  oxter,  and  the  yells  o'  anither 
comin'  frao  the  schule  itself  like  to  tak'  the  roof  aff. 

"  '  Ye  are  a  great  miss  in  a  barn,'  I  said  to  Peter  yince. 

'"  And  what  for  that  ?'  says  he,  glowerin'  at  me. 

"  'Ye  wad  do  for  flail  and  fanners  too,'  says  I,  'for  ye 
lay  on  like  twa  threshers  on  a  sheaf,  and  gar  the  stour  flee 
like  a  pair  o'  blue  fanners  new  coft  oot  o'  Andro  Dobie's 
shop  1'" 

"  The  dominie  wadna  like  that,  I'se  warrant,"  said  his 
neighbor  at  the  kirk  door,  where  they  Avere  waiting  for  the 
minister. 

For  in  the  parish  of  Saint  John's  it  Avas  considered  that 
lightning  would  immediately  fall  upon  any  head  of  a  house- 
hold or  other  responsible  person  Avho  Avould  venture  to  take 
his  seat  before  the  minister  had  gone  into  the  vestry. 

"  Peter  has  a  great  name  for  bringin'  on  backward  lad- 
dies, thougii,"  said  Grocer  Candlish  ;  "there's  Jock  Mac- 


KIT    GOES    HOME  239 

Walter.  I  declare  a  stupider  nowfc  than  him  ye  wadna  find 
between  here  and  the  back-shore  o'  Leswalt,  He  disna  ken 
a  turniji  frae  a  patawtie  except  juist  by  the  taste,  and  he 
has  nae  natural  way  wi'  horse  beasts  ava'.  But  he  can 
leather  at  the  Latin  till  ye  wad  lliink  somebody  was  sweer- 
in'  strange  oaths  doon  by  in  the  clachan." 

''Oh,  he's  a  terrible  weel-learned  craiter,  the  maistcr," 
said  the  herd  of  Knockman,  a  hill  farm  at  the  root  of 
Cairnsmore.  "  I  hear  he's  gaun  to  sent  Jock  forrit  for  the 
next  Gallowa'  bursary.  His  faither  is  to  mak'  a  minister 
cot  o'  him,  I  hear.  "Weel,  I  hae  seen  mony  queer-lookin' 
and  unfaceable  ministers,  but  gin  they  mak'  yin  oot  o'  that 
Gallant,  I'll  say  that  the  day  o'  miracles  is  no  bygane!" 

"And  what's  the  matter  wi'  Jock,  na,"  said  Grocer 
Candlish ;  "he's  a  rael  ccevil  lad  and  eident  at  his 
lessons  ?" 

"What's  the  maitter  wi'  him— a  ceevil  callant,  says  you. 
Aye,  far  ower  ceevil.  I  wad  like  to  see  him  scoorin'  the 
hills  lichfit  like  a  wild  goat,  barefit  and  bareleggit.  Boy 
Gallants  are  best  steerin'.  But  yon  laddie,  he  creeps  to  the 
schule,  and  he  sits  at  the  desk,  and  he  trembles  for  fear 
he's  lickit,  and  greets  when  he  gets  a  cuff,  and  tells  tales 
on  the  rest  to  sook  in  wi'  the  maister.  Oh,  I  hae  been 
Avatchin'  that  laddie  when  I've  been  aboot  the  clachan. 
Ye  may  mak'  a  minister  o'  him,  I  Avill  aloo,  for  the  grace 
o'  God  is  almichty.  But  thae  sort  should  be  pushioned 
when  they're  young,  and  that's  my  thocht  o't !" 

Every  three  months  Kit  got  a  day  off,  and  went  through 
to  the  little  house  of  Crae  to  see  those  whom  he  had  left 
behind.  By  the  care  of  Betty  Landsborough  (or  some  one 
of  her  many  admirers)  it  was  always  a  day  when  Walter 
Mac  Walter  was  absent  on  some  of  the  mysterious  business 
which  about  this  time  more  and  more  began  to  occupy 
him.  Lilias  came  over  early,  passing  on  her  way  the  grass- 
grown  court-yard  and  closed  doors,  and  regarding  wistfully 


240  KIT    KENNEDY 

tlie  barricaded  windows  of  tlie  little  farm  ot  Black  Dornal ; 
then,  sighing  a  little,  she  crossed  the  high-backed  bridge  of 
Crae  beneath  which  the  water  forever  rustles  brown  and 
cool,  striving  with  the  green  leaves  and  the  jubilant  birds 
which  shall  have  the  meed  of  sweetest  melody. 

Then  at  the  end  of  the  little  walk,  which  leads  to  the 
left  among  the  trees  to  the  cottage  in  the  wood  of  Crae, 
Kit  would  fling  himself  into  his  mother's  arms  with  a  little 
cry  of  joy. 

"  Oh,  mither — mither  !     But  I  am  that  glad  to  see  ye  !" 

And  each  time  he  would  search  her  face  to  see  if  it  had 
grown  more  weary,  and  her  abundant  hair  for  gray  threads 
to  pull  out  as  if  he  had  been  her  lover.  And  partly  it  was 
the  anxious  joy  of  a  son's  affection,  and  partly  because  he 
knew  that  the  "  Orra  Man"  would  ask  him  so  many  ques- 
tions about  them  all,  but  especially  about  his  mother,  when 
he  went  back  to  Loch  Spellanderie  and  the  Black  Sheds. 

Then  in  gallant  procession  they  would  return  to  the 
cottage.  Kit  leading  his  mother,  looking  radiant  and  al- 
most girlish,  the  weary  broken  look  for  the  moment  quite 
taken  away  by  the  excitement  of  her  son's  home-coming, 
the  flutter  of  her  mother's  bustling  Avelcome,  and  her 
father's  stiller  joy. 

For  early  in  the  afternoon  the  Elder  himself  would  come 
np  the  green  walk  between  the  pine  woods  carrying  his 
stone-breaking  tools— a  little  more  bent  perhaps  than  of 
yore,  a  little  whiter  of  hair,  but  with  all  the  old  serenity  of 
eye,  the  same  straightforwardness  of  regard,  the  placid  lip, 
the  firm  chin,  the  noble  cliff-like  brow. 

At  the  same  place  each  time,  and  ever  with  fresh  apparent 
surprise  on  his  grandfather's  part.  Kit  would  leap  out  npon 
him,  and  seizing  the  old  man  by  the  arms  dispossess  him 
of  his  hammers  and  leathern  bag,  crying  out  all  the  time, 
"  Oh,  grandfaither,  are  ye  no  glad  to  see  me  ?  I  thocht 
ye  were  never  comin' !" 

Then  with  the  old  man  smiling  down  upon  him,  and  Kit 


KIT    GOES    HOME  241 

circling  like  a  jubilant  collie  round  and  round  liim,  the 
]-)air  would  approach  the  door  of  the  little  cot.  And  Betty 
Landsboroiigh  would  come  out  with  a  tin  "bine"  in  lier 
liands,  and  stand  looking  at  them  with  that  in  her  eyes 
which  none  of  her  admirers  had  ever  been  able  to  bring  there. 

Margaret  Armour,  her  best  '' kep"  accurately  adjusted 
on  her  head  in  honor  of  the  occasion,  stood  upon  the  spot- 
less doorstep,  saying  nothing,  but  smiling  observant,  be- 
nignant as  a  motherly  senior  among  her  chickens. 

"  Kit,  Kit,"  she  would  say,  warningly,  as  the  boy,  wild 
with  getting  home  for  a  day,  would  indulge  in  some  sur- 
passing prank,  "dinna  vex  your  grandfaither.  He  will  be 
tired.     Did  onybody  ever  see  siccan  a  callant  ?" 

But  it  was  when  they  were  all  gathered  in  the  little  room, 
and  the  very  window  flowers  seemed  to  turn  inward  to  listen 
to  their  happy  talk,  that  Kit's  "head-time,"  as  he  called 
it  himself,  arrived. 

Then  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  purse  which  the  "  Orra 
Man"  had  given  him,  and  from  it  he  extracted  his  wages 
in  dirty  pound-notes.  Six  pounds  in  the  half-year  was  the 
figure.  He  carried  them  across  to  his  grandmother  with 
careless  grace  but  inward  swelling  pride. 

"  Here,  granny,"  he  would  say,  cheerfully,  "  this  is  to 
help  to  pay  the  rent." 

Then  the  same  thing  happened  every  time. 

First  Kit  became  conscious  of  a  proud,  beamy  look  an- 
swering his  on  his  mother's  face.  Then  the  Elder  would 
bow  his  head  and  give  silent  thanks.  Thereafter  the  tears 
would  well  up  into  his  grandmother's  eyes,  her  lips  quiver, 
and  she  would  say,  "  I  canna  take  it.  Kit.  'Deed,  I  canna 
be  takin'  it  frae  ye,  laddie  !" 

Mostly,  while  she  was  thus  holding  it  in  her  shaking  fin- 
gers and  her  hands  were  gripping  her  apron,  with  the  glad 
tears  "happin'"  like  rabbits  down  her  black  dress  and 
white  mutch -strings,  Betty  Landsborongli  would  come 
jauntily  in. 

16 


242  KIT    KENNEDY 

"What's  this,  what  's  this?"  she  would  cry.  "Never 
mair  siller  !  I  declare  ye  maun  rob  the  bank.  Faith,  ye 
micht  spare  a  note  or  twa  for  mo  to  buy  me  a  new  goon, 
Kit — me  that  has  aye  been  sae  fond  o'  ye  !" 

For  Betty  Landsborough  thought  that  there  had  been 
enough  of  the  joy  that  brings  down  the  tear,  and  with  her 
rustic  outspokenness,  which  in  Whinnyliggate  passed  very 
well  for  Avit,  she  soon  brought  the  smiles  back  again  to  all 
the  faces. 

Ah,  simple  moods  of  simple  folk,  humor  broad  as  the 
harvest  moon  that  smiles  in  the  September  sky,  pathos  of 
the  working  field  and  kitchen,  of  the  home-returning  feet, 
the  labor-weary  body,  the  aging  face,  the  unaging  heart — 
with  the  love  so  reticently  shut  within  mostly,  so  suddenly 
revealed  some  day  when  the  clouds  rift  —  ye  are  precious 
every  whit  to  me,  but  perhajDS  over -common  for  many 
others  !  Your  manifestations  may  be  unrefined,  your 
words  are  often  coarse,  but  the  sin  and  the  pain  and  the 
pardon  ye  reveal  are  those  which  each  recurring  generation 
has  known  since  first  the  Wall  of  Eden  was  broken  down, 
and  man  set  to  earn  his  daily  bread  in  the  sweat  of  his 
brow. 

Then  when  Kit  stood  beside  his  grandmother,  and  Lilias 
still  had  that  glorified  look  on  her  face,  with  a  grandly 
simple  gesture  the  Elder  would  rise  to  his  feet. 

"  Let  us  pray !"  I  can  hear  him  say.  Then  all  rose  as 
they  did  when  the  minister  came  to  visit.  At  the  Book 
night  and  morning  they  kneeled.  But  now  they  stood. 
For  it  was  a  family  thanksgiving,  and  with  a  hand  laid  on 
the  boy's  shoulder  the  Ruling  Elder  2:»rayed  that  the  bless- 
ing of  the  Heavenly  Father  might  rest  on  this  lad  who  had 
no  father  on  the  earth,  and  that  he  who  honored  his  for- 
bears, and  obeyed  the  voice  of  his  mother,  might  receive 
tenfold  the  blessing  of  the  commandment  with  promise. 

This  was  the  time  when  Kit  felt  the  tears  flood  up  from 
his  own  heart  to  his  eyes.     His  mother  came  nearer  to  him  ; 


KIT    GOES    HOME  243 

lie  bent  liis  head  on  her  breast.  Somcliow  the  roof  of  the 
humble  cot  went  off,  and  they  seemed  to  be  standing  in  a 
large  iDlace  of  shining  beauty,  as  indeed  well  they  might. 
For  the  cottage  in  the  Crae  Wood  had  become  an  ante- 
chamber of  the  court  of  Heaven,  and  the  Elder's  petitions 
the  bridge  between  the  poor  human  fact  and  the  lofty 
human  ideal. 

Soon,  all  too  soon,  it  was  time  to  go. 

Kit  must  be  back  at  Loch  Spcllanderie  for  the  suppering 
of  the  horses,  and  besides  he  had  trysted  with  the  "Orra 
Man"  to  meet  him  at  the  smiddy  in  Saint  John's  Town. 
With  sad,  reluctant  foot  Lilias  must  return  to  Kirkoswald 
to  feed  on  the  joy  she  had  experienced  and  to  await  that 
Avhich  should  yet  be.  8he  lived  chiefly  because  of  those 
visits  of  her  son. 

''Ye  are  no  forgettin'  the  Book,  Kit?''  his  grandfather 
would  say,  meaning  the  reading  of  his  Bible. 

"And  your  prayers  ?"  his  mother  Avould  add. 

"  And  ye  are  keepin'  oot  o'  a'  bad  company  ?"  This  from 
his  grandmother, 

"And  you  are  no  makin'  love  to  ony  o'  the  up-country 
lasses?"  would  be  Betty  Landsborough's  contribution; 
"  mind  that  yo  are  trysted  to  me  !" 

Then  Kit  would  ask  for  the  foresters  at  Eob's  Bothie, 
and  comport  himself  so  bravely  at  parting  that  smiles  would 
be  on  every  face.  His  mother  usually  walked  a  little  way 
with  him  to  a  shady  place  in  the  wood  down  by  the  step- 
ping-stones, where  she  took  him  in  her  arms,  great  fellow 
though  he  had  grown,  and  kissed  him  and  clapped  his 
shoulder  lightly  with  her  hand,  saying  only,  in  a  shaken 
voice,  "My  laddie  !     My  nice  laddie  !" 

Then  Kit,  first  looking  every  way  to  see  that  no  one  was 
coming,  would  lay  his  cheek  on  his  mother's  brow  and 
croon  over  her,  saying,  "Mither,  mither,  dinna  greet  !  I 
am  gaun  to  be  a  great  man,  and  then  Fii  tak'  ye  away  wi' 
me.     And  we'll  hae  a  hoose  in  the  toon  and  a  hoosc  at  the 


244  KIT    KENNEDY 

sea-side.  And  ye  shall  hae  silk  to  wear  and  a  bonnet  with 
gum  floo'ers  intil't,  green  and  red  and  purple.  And  ye'll 
hae  naebody  to  fret  ye  then,  and  nocht  to  do  but  to  see 
that  my  sarks  are  clean  to  pit  on— a  clean  white  sark  every 
mornin'.     Dinna  greet,  mither,  for  it's  comin' !" 

His  mother  smiled  through  the  fast-running  salt  water. 

"Be  a  good  lad.  Kit,  and  mind  your  prayers  I" 

"  Aye,  mither  !  And  we'll  hae  twa  servants,  and  ye'U 
gie  them  '  Scots  wha  hae '  if  they  arena  up  at  six  o'clock 
and  readyin'  the  porridge  !" 

"  Kit,  do  ye  aye  mind  to  say  a  prayer  for  your  mither  ?" 

"  Aye,  mither,  of  course  !  But  what  need  ye  speak  o'  sic 
things.  Somebody  might  hear  ye.  x\nd  the  hoose  will  be 
three  stories,  and  there  will  be  canaries  in  every  window—" 

"■  Kit,  ye  never  see  ony  tramp  folk  the  worse  of  drink  up 
your  way,  do  ye  ?" 

"  No,  mither.  What  for  do  ye  speer  ?  There's  nae 
tramps  aboot  the  place,  but  I'll  keep  awa'  frae  them  if  ye 
say  so,  mither,  gin  that  will  please  ye.  Noo,  I  maun  rin 
half  the  road  to  be  in  time  for  the  '  Orra  Man'." 

His  mother  asked  one  other  question  with  an  anxious 

face. 

''Oh,  juist  a  kind  man  at  a  neighbor  farm/'  Kit  an- 
swered ;  "he  is  to  meet  me  at  the  clachan — a  ceevil  man, 
and  greatly  thocht  o'  by  his  maister. 

"Guid-nicht,  mither;  mind  and  no  greet.  And  think 
on  the  clean  sarks  ilka  day,  and  the  twa  servants  and  the 
canaries  in  every  window." 

So  Kit  would  go  ofE  with  his  feet  moving  fast  in  the  di- 
rection of  Loch  Spellanderie,  but  his  face  looking  back 
over  his  shoulder.  And  he  never  cried  a  tear  all  the  time 
—that  is,  not  till  he  was  too  far  from  his  mother  for  her  to 
see  whether  he  cried  or  not. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

KITS,   IlIVAL 

It  was  a  great  strain  for  Kit  to  keep  tlio  secret  of  the 
"  Orra  Man's  "  lessons  to  himself,  and  only  the  urgent  re- 
monstrances of  his  teacher,  and  the  wonderful  surprise  it 
would  be  to  every  one  if  he  succeeded,  kept  him  from  tell- 
ing his  mother  each  time  he  bade  her  good-bye.  She  had 
so  little  in  life  to  make  her  glad.  She  seemed  to  have 
suffered  for  everybody  else's  wrong-doings,  and  to  make  up 
Kit  wanted  to  give  her  all  the  joy  he  could.  But  the 
"  Orra  Man  "  represented  to  him  what  it  would  be  when 
they  saw  his  name  in  the  papers. 

And  then  Jock  MacWalter  —  and  Jock  MacWalter's 
mother  I" 

Kit  could  not  forego  that  revenge,  and  what  he  suffered 
at  Loch  Spellanderie  was  perhaps  as  great  a  factor  in  his 
desire  for  hard  work  and  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  as 
everything  else  jout  together. 

For  Mistress  MacWalter  "rubbed  it  into"  Kit  after  her 
fashion.  She  informed  him  a  thousand  times  that  John 
was  to  be  a  minister,  and  that  he,  Kit  Kennedy,  was  to  be 
an  out-worker  about  a  farm,  who  might  indeed  rise  to 
handle  a  plough,  but  who  could  not  bo  trusted  with  a 
printed  book. 

Jock  usually  worked  in  the  "  ben  room,"  or  parlor  of 
Loch  Spellanderie,  a  lugubrious  apartment,  with  chests  of 
drawers  and  a  best  bed  which  retired  itself  as  far  as  pos- 
sible into  one  corner  behind  curtains,  and  which  when 
company  called  they  were  expected  not  to  notice. 


24G  KIT    KENNEDY 

llis  mother  was  in  the  liabit  of  taking  visitors  down  as 
far  as  the  door  of  this  abode  of  the  more  learned  muses. 

"  I  think  he's  oot.  Ye  micht  juist  like  to  tak^  a  peep. 
He  sits  there  and  learns  a'  the  day  through.  Aye,  that's 
a  Greek  bulk  or  a  Hebrew ;  I  dinna  ken  what  yin  o'  the 
twa.  Jock  is  a  fair  neeger  at  baith  languages,  and  as  for 
Laitin,  Dominie  MacFayden  says  that  he  canna  learn  him 
ony  mair.  Noo,  come  awa  !  He'll  be  comin'  in  the  noo, 
and  he'll  no  like  to  think  that  his  learnit  bulks  hae  been 
disturbit  by  the  likes  o'  us  !" 

"It's  a  preevelege  to  hae  seen,"  his  mother's  visitor 
would  say,  diplomatically  and  solemnly  ;  "  I  never  kenned 
that  there  was  sae  muckle  to  be  dune  before  ye  could  be  a 
minister.  I  declare  I'll  think  mair  than  ever  o'  the  Sab- 
bath's sermon  noo  \" 

"Oh,  Jock  is  no  that  length  yet,  but  the  fact  is  that 
he's  gaun  to  win  a  grand  heap  o'  siller  that's  called  a  bur- 
sary. It's  gi'en  to  the  best  scholar.  And  though  of 
course  John  disna  need  it — for  his  faither  is  perfectly  able 
and  wullin'  to  pay  for  his  collegin' — forebye  his  rich  uncle 
"Walter  (the  laird,  ye  ken)  that  juist  doats  on  him.  But 
this  bursary  is  an  unco'  honor,  and  it  will  be  a  great  feath- 
er in  Dominie  MacFayden's  cap.  No  but  what  John  could 
win  it  by  himsel' !  It  will  be  a  fine  thing  to  gang  to  Ed- 
inbra  as  the  First  Gallowa'  Bursar.  What  think  ye  o'  that 
for  a  name  ?" 

So  the  privileged  visitant  would  retire,  awed  and  full  of 
admiration  for  "that  wonnerfu'  callant  o'  Mistress  Mac- 
Walter's."  But  after  she  had  passed  the  loaning  end,  and 
found  herself  safe  on  the  broad,  unprejudiced  King's  High- 
way, she  was  wont  to  prophesy  that  somehow  "siccan 
pride  would  get  a  sair  doon-come." 

But  it  was  not  from  this  that  Kit  suffered  most,  nor  yet 
from  having  Jock  thrown  at  his  head  at  all  times  of  the 
day.  It  was  because  he  was  not  allowed  to  handle  or  even 
look  at  any  of  the  favored  student's  books. 


KIT'S    RIVAL  U7 

It  chanced  that  on  one  occasion  John  had  brought  an 
American  edition  of  Virc;il  with  him  from  Dominie  Mac- 
Fayden's,  a  volume  full  of  the  most  admirable  translations 
and  the  most  copious  notes  and  explanations.  So  complete, 
indeed,  was  the  volume,  so  all  compact  of  helps  and  aids 
and  information,  that  it  left  the  student  nothing  whatever 
to  do — which,  very  naturally,  was  often  just  what  he  did. 

But  to  Kit  Kennedy,  trained  in  the  severe  school  of  the 
classical  master,  to  whom  lexicon,  grammar,  gradus,  and 
dictionary  represented  all  the  law  and  the  prophets,  this 
American  royal  road  to  learning  Avas  a  revelation.  He 
lifted  it  with  brightening  eyes  and  an  eager  hand.  It  was 
lying  beside  the  bakeboard  open.  Jock  had  just  been  ex- 
plaining to  his  scandalized  mother  about  the  doings  of  the 
heathen  gods  and  goddesses. 

"  Tell  me  some  mair  about  that  shameless  besom  V 
Mistress  Mac  Walter  had  been  saying  when  mother  and  son 
were  called  out  by  a  great  outcry  in  the  stable-yard. 

It  was  at  that  very  moment  that  Kit,  all  unconscious, 
came  in  by  the  door  of  the  back  kitchen,  steering  his  way 
among  the  pots  and  pans. 

There  on  the  table  open,  no  one  near,  lay  the  fascinat- 
ing volume. 

Kit  had  it  in  his  hand  in  a  moment.  He  turned  up 
passage  after  passage,  and  ever  his  heart  sank  more  com- 
pletely into  his  hob-nailed  boots.  He  could  iiever  hope  to 
obtain  from  his  poor  barren  dictionaries,  and  by  the  slow 
process  of  looking  up  every  word,  such  a  wealth  of  classi- 
cal lore  as  lay  open  to  the  possessor  of  this  volume. 

He  looked  up  line  after  line,  in  which  he  had  encounter- 
ed difficulties  untold.  Here  they  were  all  solved,  with  new 
and  wondrous  lights  upon  meaning,  fresh  and  impossible 
felicities  of  translation,  and  rich  store  of  allusions  to  man- 
ners and  customs  which  made  his  heart  flutter  to  think 
how  little  he  knew. 

Thus  he  stood  rapt  and  transfixed  by  the  side  of  the 


248  KIT    KENNEDY 

bakoboard  nnconscious  of  all,  till  suddenly  a  tremendous 
box  on  the  ear  sent  him  reeling.  The  volume  was  snatched 
from  his  hand  and  the  floury  rolling-pin  applied  vigorous- 
ly to  his  back.  Kit's  eyes  watered  with  indignation  more 
than  with  pain.  But  louder  than  the  ringing  of  his  smit- 
ten ear  shrilled  the  indignant  voice  of  Mistress  Mac- 
Walter. 

"  AVhat  do  ye  mean,  ye  ignorant  wratch,  yc  nameless 
landlouper,  by  finger-markin'  my  John's  learned  bulk  wi' 
your  great  glaury  paws  ?  Did  onybody  ever  see  the  like  ? 
A  great  muckle  nowt  like  you,  fresh  frae  the  byre,  to 
handle  a  dear-bocht  buik  like  that,  and  be  lookin'  at  it  as 
if  ye  could  understand  a  single  word  o't  ! 

"  What  need  hae  ye  o'  eddication  ?  What  ye  hae  to  mind 
is  to  hand  the  pleucli  and  count  the  beasts — that  will  tak  ye 
a'  your  time,  my  man.  Aye,  and  I'll  promise  ye  that  your 
maister  shall  hear  this  nicht,  when  he  comes  hame,  baith 
how  ye  waste  his  time  and  lichtly  me,  his  marriet  wife, 
standing  there  v/i'  a  mock  on  your  face.  I'll  learn  ye,  my 
man.  I'll  gar  ye  lauch  on  the  wrang  side  o'  your  held  gin 
I  bring  the  roller  down  on  your  croon  !" 

It  was  with  a  very  downcast  countenance  that  Kit  made 
his  way  to  the  Black  Sheds  that  night. 

"  I  think  I  had  better  gie  it  up  ;  I  can  never  be  upsides 
wi'  the  like  o'  yon,"  he  said  to  the  "  Orra  Man." 

And  Avith  copious  detail  he  told  his  master  all  the  won- 
ders of  the  American  book.  The  classical  master  smiled  a 
far-off,  quiet  smile. 

'^For  once,"  he  said,  "Mistress  Mac  Walter  did  quite 
right.  If  ever  I  were  to  catch  you  with  a  book  like  that  I 
would  first  throw  it  in  the  back  of  the  fire,  and  then  I 
would  tan  your  hide  from  head  to  foot  into  the  bargain  !" 

Kit  opened  his  eyes  wide  indeed.  What  could  his  teach- 
er mean  ? 

"Listen,  Kit,"  said  the  "Orra  Man."  "I  don't  know 
what   Jock   MacWalter  has   learned,    but    I    know   what 


KIT'S    RIVAL  249 

Dominie  MacFadyon  can  teach.  And  —  well,  mind  you 
your  versions  and  never  pass  a  word  you  don't  know  the 
exact  meaning  of  to  a  shade.  And  when  the  day  comes, 
we'll  see  what  we  shall  see." 

Walter  Mac  Walter  did  not  leave  Kit  to  his  fate  when  he 
provided  a  home  for  him  with  his  brother  and  sister-in-law 
at  Loch  Spellanderie.  He  was  for  ever  passing  to  and  fro 
on  his  now  constant  journeys.  He  drove  a  fast  horse  in 
a  light  dog-cart,  and  was  understood  to  be  engaged  in  ex- 
tensive dealing  transactions,  the  exact  purport  of  which 
nobody  but  himself  Avas  acquainted  with. 

He  did  not  personally  pay  much  attention  to  Kit,  con- 
tenting himself  with  seeing  that  he  remained  on  the  spot. 
But  he  obtained  from  Kit's  master  and  mistress  all  informa- 
tion as  to  his  doings. 

"He's  a  decent,  ceevil  eneuch  callant,"  said  his  master; 
"  I  hac  nae  faut  to  find  wi'  him  that  ye  couldna  find  wi'  ony 
ither  callant,  except  that  I  Avish  he  were  a  wee  mair  carefu' 
aboot  the  company  he  keeps." 

"Ah  !"  said  Walter  MacWalter,  but  asked  no  more  till 
he  had  a  chance  of  speaking  with  Mistress  MacWalter 
alone. 

"  What  company  does  that  boy  o'  yours  keep  ?"  he 
asked. 

"Him  ?"  cried  Mistress  MacWalter,  with  her  nose  in  the 
air ;  "  the  vcrra  warst.  But  I  dinna  interfere  wi'  him.  For 
I  mind  aye  what  ye  said  to  me  when  he  cam'.  He  taks  up 
Avi'  naebody  but  the  '  Orra  Man '  ower  by  at  Cairnharrow — 
a  drucken  wratch  that  I  hae  seen  wi'  my  ain  een  brocht 
hame  in  the  bottom  o'  a  cairt  after  twa  days'  spree.  And 
it's  mair  than  suspected  that  he  has  been  in  the  jail  twa 
or  three  times  !" 

Walter  MacWalter  nodded  with  a  satisfied  air. 

"  And  he  goes  a  great  deal  Avith  this  man,"  he  said  ; 
"  what  is  his  name  ?" 

"Oh,  nocht  particular.      Some  Englishy  name  he  has 


250  KIT    KP:NNEDY 

caa'ed  liimsel'.  The  like  o'  thae  craitnrs  has  a  new  name 
ilka  time  they  gang  to  the  hirin'  fair  !" 

Walter  Mac  Walter  smiled  to  himself,  very  well  pleased, 
as  he  drove  away. 

Kit  was  safely  out  of  his  neighborhood.  He  was  fast  be- 
coming a  mere  rustic  clod.  He  was  already  the  companion 
of  a  drunkard  and  probable  criminal. 

"  Providence  is  all  very  well,"  chnckled  the  laird  of  Kirk- 
oswald,  ''but  it  pays  better  to  depend  on  yourself  for  mak- 
ing things  happen  as  you  want  them  !" 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE    EXAMINATION    DAY 

The  day  of  the  great  trial  of  scholarship  came  round  at 
last.  The  secretary  of  the  society  had  a  considerable  list 
of  entrants.  These,  being  a  AV.S.*  and  a  man  of  exacti- 
tude, he  had  entered  according  to  alphabetical  order  under 
their  names,  places  of  abode,  schools  at  which  they  had 
studied,  together  with  their  present  ages. 

There  was  one  entry  which  puzzled  him  a  good  deal. 
It  came  about  midway  his  list  of  eleven  or  twelve  as 
finally  made  out.  It  ran  as  follows :  Christoplier  Ken- 
nedy. Age,  15.  Loch  SpeUanderie,  GleiilceUs  —  Private 
Study. 

All  the  other  entrants  came  from  well-known  burgh  or 
famous  parish  schools,  long  celebrated  for  "  sendin'  up  lads 
to  the  college."     But  here  was  a  difficulty. 

"  It  may  be  a  practical  joke  !"  said  Ebenezer  Fleming, 
W.S.,  and  like  a  wary  man -of- law  he  indited  a  letter 
to  Christopher  Kennedy  asking  for  particulars  and  a  cer- 
tificate from  his  parish  minister  in  lieu  of  one  from  his 
teacher.  lie  got  in  reply  a  neat  and  clerkly  letter,  which 
would  not  have  disgraced  one  of  his  own  juniors  at  the 
office  in  St.  Andrew's  Square.  And  enclosed  in  it  were 
two  certificates,  one  from  the  parish  minister  of  St.  John's 
Town,  and  the  other  from  his  OAvn  maternal  uncle,  the 
Cameronian  minister  of  the  Kirk  of  the  Hill  in  Cairn  Ed- 
ward. 

*  i.e..  Writer  to  the  Signet. 


252  KIT    KENNEDY 

"It  will  be  some  minister  who  has  been  teaching  him — 
poor  chap,  I  fear  he  Avill  get  a  downcome  when  he  tries  him- 
self against  all  these  academy  fellows,  I  got  a  wonderful 
letter  about  one  applicant — what  is  his  name,  yes — yes — 
Mac  Walter— John  Mac  Walter. " 

Now  the  Union  of  Galloway  Associations  held  its  annual 
meetina:  in  Cairn  Edward  at  the  time  of  the  examinations. 
And  the  unfortunates  who  had  their  papers  to  write  indited 
them  in  the  assembly  rooms  of  the  leading  hotel,  the  Cairn 
Edward  Arms,  amid  a  distant  fusilade  of  popping  corks, 
intermittent  sounds  of  revelry,  and  the  constant  trampling 
of  innumerable  feet  in  the  passages  without. 

Cairn  Edward  itself  was  new  to  Kit.  That  is,  he  had 
been  in  the  little  town  on  Sabbaths  when  all  the  shops 
wore  their  shutters — except  the  Apothecaries'  Hall,  which 
had  two  down,  and  looked  in  its  staid  responsibility  like  a 
sportive  parson  who  has  lost  a  couple  of  teeth,  and  who 
knows  he  ought  not  to  be  smiling  under  the  garish  light  of 
day.  But  Kit  had  never  seen  Cairn  Edward  on  a  Monday. 
And  that  not  a  common  Monday  either,  but  the  red-letter 
day  when  the  Union  of  Galloway  Societies  met  in  the  town 
and  held  its  great  dinner  in  the  evening. 

The  boy  slowly  took  in  the  vision  of  the  little  white- 
washed town  with  its  smiling  shops,  broad  streets,  and 
comfortable  merchants  all  a  -  bustle  behind  their  well- 
polished  counters.  Eed  carts  stood  tilted  here  and  there 
with  their  shafts  pointing  to  the  sky,  to  the  obstruction 
of  the  thoroughfare.  A  ceaseless  tide  of  gray  -  coated, 
irregularly  -  bearded  farmers  and  their  more  gayly  -  attired 
women-folk  poured  up  and  down  the  one  long  main  street. 
There  was  quite  a  concourse  at  the  cross,  and  one  could 
hardly  elbow  a  way  athwart  the  market-hill  (where  the  auc- 
tion marts  were)  for  men  and  dog-fights. 

And  in  the  midst  of  all  this  cheerful  pother  nine  or  ten 
lads,  crammed  to  the  lips  with  knowledge,  anxiously  await- 
ed the  examination  papers  which  were  to  seal  their  doom. 


THE    EXAMINATION    DAY  253 

Kit  was  early  on  the  scene.  He  was  once  more  a  free 
acrent.  For  he  had  2:iven  his  notice  and  served  his  warning 
at  Loch  Spellanderic,  as  his  monthly  engagement  enabled 
him  to  do.  Hit  or  miss,  he  knew  well  that  he  could  not  go 
back  there  after  the  dread  revelation  that  he  had  secretly 
put  himself  into  competition  with  ^'oor  John"  for  the 
great  prize  of  the  First  Galloway  Bursary. 

But  at  the  sight  of  him  among  the  competitors  John 
Mac  Walter  nearly  fell  through  the  floor  with  astonishment, 
with  which  indignation  began  soon  to  be  at  strife.  It  was 
in  the  big  barren  room  where,  during  election  times,  meet- 
ings of  the  general  Conservative  Committee  are  mostly  held 
that  Kit  first  revealed  himself  as  a  rival  to  his  mistress's  son. 

"Kit  Kennedy,  what  are  you  doing  here?  This  is  re- 
served for  candidates,  don't  you  know  ?"  said  John  Mac- 
AValter,  coming  across  the  room  to  where  Kit  sat  nervously 
fingering  the  rim  of  his  Sund;iy  hat,  and  running  over  a  few 
l^ropositions  in  the  sixth  book  of  Euclid  about  which  he 
had  qualms. 

But  Kit  only  smiled  serenely.  "Dinna  you  worry  about 
me,  John,"  he  said,  soothingly. 

"  Keep  cool,  never  give  your  classics  a  thought.  Eead 
your  paper  through  before  you  begin.  Take  the  easy  ques- 
tions first.  Keep  a  still  tongue  in  your  head,  and,  above 
all,  think  you  are  going  to  win  !"  These  Avere  the  parting 
directions  of  the  classical  master  in  the  street  of  Cairn  Ed- 
ward. He  had  ridden  down  from  Cairnharrow  with  Kit 
in  the  farm  cart  in  which  he  was  bringing  a  number  of 
calves  for  the  market. 

When  the  members  of  the  United  Galloway  Societies  ar- 
rived at  the  Cairn  Edward  Arms,  they  were  taken  as  part 
of  the  entertainment  to  the  hall  where  the  eleven  candi- 
dates sat  hard  at  with  nothing  to  depend  on  but  their 
brains,  a  printed  sheet  of  questions,  and  a  plenteous  supply 
of  pens,  ink,  and  paper. 


254  KIT    KENNEDY 

''Lord  bless  my  sonl  !"  cried  jovial  Bailie  Mowatt  of 
Edinburgh,  who  had  come  down  with  the  midday  train  to 
make  the  speech  of  the  evening,  ''an'  div  ye  mean  to  tell 
me  that  yon  laddies  ken  a'  thae  things  !  And  that  they 
hae  learned  a'  that  for  thirty  ponnd  a  year  !  A  declare  A 
wadna  do  it  for  twunty  thoosand.  Landlord,  see  ye  gie 
them  the  best  dinner  that  is  to  be  had  in  yonr  place. 
Bailie  Mowatt,  Bailie  Mowatt,  A  aye  kenned  ye  for  a  dour 
ignorant  body.  But  faith  A  never  realized  the  length  and 
braith  and  deeptli  o'  yer  ignorance  afore  !  Laddies,  3'e 
canna  a^  win.  But  ye  are  to  get  your  fares  back  and  forrit 
to  your  hames  frae  Maister  Fleemin',  that  upsettin' lawyer 
body  at  tha  heid  o'  the  table  there,  and  a'  your  expenses, 
the  same  to  be  chargit  to  Bailie  Tammas  Mowatt  o'  the 
Candlemaker  Eaw,  Enbra !     Guid-day  to  ye,  callants  !" 

Kit  had  never  sat  in  an  examination  hall  before,  and  the 
rustling  of  so  much  printed  paper,  and  the  scratching  of 
so  many  pens  all  moving  rapidly  forward,  foundered  him 
for  a  little.  But  soon  the  wits  came  back  to  him,  and  he 
remembered  the  classical  master's  advice — the  eas}''  ques- 
tions first,  and  keep  cool. 

Haj)pily  it  was  the  Latin  paper,  and  Kit  ran  his  eye  over 
the  prose  version  for  translation  with  a  Avonderful  feeling 
of  security,  which  began  at  his  feet  and  spread  tinglingly 
upward.  It  was  a  passage  from  Macaulay's  third  chapter, 
one  of  his  favorite  pieces,  and  one  which  he  had  more  than 
once  turned  into  Latin  with  the  "  Orra  Man."  The  ex- 
cellence of  the  translation  which  Kit  sent  in  was  quite  hid 
from  himself.  He  did  not  even  know  that  all  the  others 
were  leaving  their  versions  to  the  last.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  was  working  very  slowly. 

Neither  did  he  know  that  the  examiner  chosen  by  the 
Society  was  an  old  pupil  of  Melvin's  (prince  of  Latinists) 
at  Aberdeen  grammar-school  If  he  liad,  he  would  have 
taken  even  more  j^ains  with  the  version — and  perhaps 
spoiled  it. 


THE    EXAMINATION    DAY  255 

The  translations  into  English  proved  the  merest  child's 
play,  and  Kit  wrote  them  off  almost  without  thought.  In- 
deed, the  whole  paper  was  answered  so  rapidly,  and  with- 
out a  word  wasted,  that  Kit  was  first  done,  and  presently 
found  himself  with  a  beating  heart  watching  the  flying- 
pens  of  the  ten  covering  ream  after  ream  of  foolscap.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  he  must  have  left  out  something  es- 
sential. So  he  went  carefully  over  all  liis  answers,  re- 
calling what  the  '^  Orra  Man"  had  told  him,  and  putting- 
down  that  and  no  more. 

Then  came  luncheon  and  an  adjournment,  the  youths 
rising  pale  and  anxious  at  the  call  of  their  time-keeper, 
some  even  halting  to  alter  some  doubtful  point  even  on 
the  way  up  to  the  table;  and  then,  after  all  was  fixed,  re- 
hearsing in  their  minds  some  other  method  by  which  they 
could  have  answered  or  evaded  a  question  and  so  made  as- 
surance doubly  sure. 

John  Mac  Walter  kept  at  a  distance  from  Kit,  who  sat 
in  his  corner  shy  and  awkward,  but  relieved  to  find  the 
work  easy  and  simple  thus  far,  and  well  Avithin  his  possi- 
bilities. 

A  tall,  strongly-built  Wigtonshire  lad  came  over  to  where 
Kit  sat  and  held  out  a  horny  hand  with  a  friendly  air. 

^'  Hey,  mon,"  he  cried,  heartily,  "■  I  think  surely  I  hae 
seen  you  before.  My  name's  Bob  Grier.  I  come  frae  the 
Garlics.    "What's  yours,  and  where  d'ye  come  frae  ?" 

Kit  informed  him  gratefully,  and  straightway  a  fellow- 
feeling  rose  between  them,  as  being  alike  far  from  home, 
and  rough  country  lads  among  so  many  better  taught  and 
better  clad. 

"I  misdoot  neither  o'  us  is  like  to  get  the  siller,"  said 
he  of  Garlics  ;  "  there  a  young  lad  frae  aboot  Balmaclellan 
that  a  minister  tutored — a  fine  laddie,  too,  but  a  wee  deli- 
cate. You  or  me,  Kennedy,  could  twist  him  a'  into  knots. 
But  I  doot  that  at  the  learnin'  he  will  twist  us  intil  a  cockit 
hat." 


256  KIT    KENNEDY 

Kit  smilingly  admitted  the  probability— so  far,  at  least, 
as  he  was  concerned. 

"What  schule  hae  ye  been  at  ?"  was  Grier's  next  ques- 
tion. "  What,  nane  since  ye  were  eleven  year  anld  !  That's 
fair  desperate.  Ye'll  no  ken  whether  ye  are  richt  or  wrang, 
haein'  naebody  to  tell  you.  Did  ye  do  the  version  ?  What, 
every  word  o't  !     Let^s  hear  !" 

Kit  ran  over  a  sentence  or  two  of  his  translation  of 
Macaulay's  periods.  Grier  turned  about  and  called,  "I 
say,  lads,  here's  a  loonie  that  has  sent  in  a'  the  hale  ver- 
sion, every  word;  and  he  can  gie  it  all  his  tongue  like  as  if 
it  was  the  Shorter's  Qaastions  !" 

Half  a  dozen  @f  the  candidates  surrounded  Kit. 

"Say  it  again,"  said  Grier,  who,  being  a  generous  lad, 
wished  his  new  friend  to  shine. 

Kit  repeated  his  version  as  accurately  as  possible. 

"That's  not  classical  Latin,"  said  John  MacWalter  ; 
"  and  what  a  funny  way  to  speak  it !  It's  easy  to  see  he 
disna  ken  muckle  !" 

The  smith  from  Garlics  turned  on  the  speaker.  "  Aye, 
my  yellow-gilled  dishclout,  and  what  dub  did  they  fish  you 
oot  o'  wi'  a  worm  ?  What  grand  way  do  ye  pronounce  your 
words,  that  ye  can  afford  to  throw  stanes  at  ither  folk  ?" 

Jock  MacWalter  Avished  lie  had  his  mother  to  answer  fo-r 
him,  but  managed  to  falter  that  "  at  ony  rate  that  wasna 
the  richt  way." 

"Man,"  said  Garlics,  "I  wish  sair  we  had  you  doon 
about  whaur  I  come  frae.  There's  a  smiddy  there  that  I 
work  in  whiles.  Man,  I  could  pit  a  pair  of  fine  cuddy 
cackars  on  ye  (iron  shoes)  that  wad  fit  ye  to  a  hair.  And 
then  ye  could  gang  your  ways  up  to  the  college  o'  Edin- 
burgh and  stand  in  the  muckle  '  yett,'  and  tell  a'  the  pro- 
fessors hoo  to  pronounce  the  Lai  tin." 

"  Come  to  dinner  now,"  announced  the  voice  of  the  Sec- 
retary from  the  doorway;  "we  will  take  the  mathematical 
paper  in  the  afternoon." 


THE    EXAMINATION    DAY  257 

And  Kit  felt  a  tremor  like  incipient  rigor  run  tlirougli 
all  his  limbs.  Here,  if  anywhere,  he  Avould  disgrace  him- 
self. 

It  was  not  to  be  so,  however,  for  the  old  Melvin's  pupil, 
perhaps  conscious  that  he  was  not  equal  to  modern  reason- 
ings and  deductions,  had  confined  himself  mainly  to  the 
plain  letter  of  Euclid  and  the  honorable  and  intelligible 
higliAvay  of  quadratic  equations. 

Kit  ploughed  through  the  paper  without  enthusiasm,  but 
except  that  he  had  the  "  Orra  Man's"  trick  of  putting 
Greek  letters  at  the  corners  of  his  figures,  the  Aberdeen 
LL.D.  could  find  little  to  object  to.  And  perhaps  that 
very  irritant  trick,  all  innocently  used  by  Kit  Kennedy, 
prevented  his  examiner  from  following  the  reasoning  very 
closely. 

But  it  was  upon  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  that 
the  phalanx  of  eleven  encountered  their  Flodden  field. 
Hitherto  they  had  struggled  on,  no  one  of  them  acknowl- 
edging that  he  was  beaten  even  to  himself,  except  Rob 
Grier,  who  declared  that  "Hhe  minister  loon  frae  Balma- 
clellan  "  was  the  winner.  "  And  it's  richt  eneuch  that  the 
likes  o'  him  should  get  it.  For  I  can  gang  back  and  whack 
het  airn  in  the  smiddy  at  Garlics,  and  this  hill  tyke  here 
can  cut  turmuts  and  clip  sheep.  But  the  like  o'  the  min- 
ister loonic — faith,  he's  guid  for  nocht  but  to  make  mair 
ministers  o' — to  gie  oot  the  psalms  on  the  Sabbath,  and  tell 
folk  on  the  street  that  it's  a  fine  day  a'  the  rest  of  the 
week  !  AVe  hae  a  plaguit  wheen  ower  money  o'  that  kind 
doon  aboot  the  Garlics." 

Thus  spoke  Rob  Grier,  the  smith-student,  with  the  scorn 
of  Tubal-Cain  for  them  that  only  peep  and  mutter  in  that 
great  sound  heart  of  his.  But  Kit,  having  no  liberty  of 
prophesying  among  so  many,  held  liis  peace. 

Flodden  began  precisely  at  half-past  two  of  the  afternoon 
of  the  second  day,  when  the  Secretary  handed  out  the 
lY 


258  KIT    KENNEDY 

Greek  paper.  Kit  read  it  calmly  over,  and  without  ob- 
serving the  look  of  aghast  snrjirise  on  every  other  face  set- 
tled comfortably  to  his  task  of  answering  it, 

Never  before  had  he  known  the  full  capacities  of  the 
"^Orra  Man/'  and  the  worth  of  his  stern  drill  in  matching 
the  Greek  word  and  phrase,  not  with  the  English  alone, 
but  also  with  the  Latin  equivalent.  He  benefited  by  the 
list  of  words  stuck  on  the  barn  door  when  at  the  threshing, 
the  irregular  verbs  which  depended  from  a  point  of  the 
harness  in  the  stable,  the  rules  pinned  above  his  candle- 
stick, and  the  red  and  blue  marks  which  decorated  the 
grammars  the  classical  master  had  bought  for  him  from 
the  general  dealer  in  Dumfries. 

So  Kit  began  his  jiaper  with  the  same  impartial  succinct- 
ness which  had  marked  his  method  of  dealing  with  the 
others.  The  only  difference  was  that  on  this  occasion  he 
left  the  version  to  the  last  because,  as  he  said  to  himself, 
*'the  rest  was  so  easy."  And  so  it  Avas — to  a  puj)il  of  the 
"  Orra  Man."  Kit  finished  his  paper,  looked  again  at  the 
tenses  of  the  verbs,  shook  his  head  at  a  construction  which 
did  not  seem  quite  right,  folded  the  foolscap  sheets  neatly 
up,  and  carried  it  to  the  Secretary. 

"That  will  do;  you  can  go  now,"  said  Mr.  Ebenezer 
Fleming,  W.S.  "You  will  be  present  to  hear  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  successful  candidate  made  in  this  room 
this  day  fortnight." 

Kit  looked  back,  and  Eob  Grier,  sitting  biting  his  pen, 
waved  a  friendly  hand.  But  all  the  rest  were  too  deeply 
engrossed  in  making  Greek  bricks  without  the  necessary 
straw  of  grammar  and  vocabulary  to  be  conscious  of  his 
departure. 

Their  sole  comfort  was  that  all  were  equally  bad.  Why, 
there  was  that  muirland  boy,  Kennedy  the  name  of  him — 
he  had  fairly  given  the  thing  up,  and  sent  in  his  paper 
without  finishing  it. 

The  candidates  separated  with  a  general  idea  that  the 


THE    EXAMINATION    DAY  359 

prize  lay  between  the  minister's  loon  from  Balmaclcllan, 
wlio  was  delicate,  and  John  Mac  Walter,  who  declared  tliat 
he  was  sure  to  get  it.  For  in  these  things  confidence  always 
counts  for  a  good  deal. 

Kit  met  the  "  Orra  Man"  at  the  smiddy  on  his  Avay  to 
Oairnharrow.  So  keen  was  his  teacher  to  know  how  he  had 
done  that  he  could  hardly  wait  till  they  were  in  the  cart, 
rattling  along  the  autumnal  drift  of  dead  leaves  which  filled 
all  the  lanes. 

"  AVell  ?"  said  the  "  Orra  Man." 

"  I  dinna  ken,"  said  Kit,  mournfully,  for  on  the  way  he 
had  had  time  to  think  of  all  that  he  might  have  done  ; 
''there  with  ithers  wrote  far  mair  nor  me.  They  fair 
covered  miles  o'  paper.  And  there  was  a  verb  I  wasna  sure 
o'  in  the  Greek." 

"  Have  you  the  papers  with  you  ?" 

The  hands  of  the  classical  master  were  trembling.  It 
was  growing  dark,  so  he  lighted  the  stable  lantern,  and 
master  and  pupil  huddled  under  a  sack  in  the  corner  of  the 
red  farm  cart,  while  Peggy,  the  sedate  old  white  mare, 
jogged  along,  happily  quite  able  to  conduct  herself  home 
to  Oairnharrow,  for  neither  of  her  masters  paid  the  least 
attention  to  her.  She  hitched  her  head  occasionally  when 
the  "  Orra  Man"  dragged  on  the  rein  which  he  had  thrown 
over  his  arm,  and  which  he  was  apt  to  pull  upon  in  the  ex- 
tremity of  his  anxiety.  This  hitch  expressed  Peggy^s  con- 
tempt for  the  dead  languages.  Peggy  did  not  mind  going 
home  all  unguided,  but  she  expected  to  have  her  head  to 
herself  when  she  was  doing  it. 

"  Now  tell  me  all  that  you  put  down  exactly — the  Latin 
paper  first." 

The  "Orra  Man"  frowned  at  one  or  two  of  the 
phrases. 

''You  should  have  bettered  that,"  he  said,  witliout  a 
word  of  jiraise. 

"I  ken,"  said  Kit,  humbly,  "but  it's  no  so  easy  when  ye 


2G0  KIT    KENNEDY 

hear  a'  tlioir  pens  racin'  like  the  Skyre  Burn  comin'  doon 
in  spate  off  Cairnharrow  !" 

They  were  at  the  loaning  end  of  the  farm  before  the  con- 
sideration of  the  papers  and  the  criticism  of  the  answers 
were  half  done.  Then  Kit  went  directly  to  the  stable  loft 
where  he  was  to  sleep  with  the  "  Orra  Man/''  while  in  a  sort 
of  dream  John  Smith  gave  Peggy  her  supper  and  went  in 
for  his  own.  He  had  scarcely  been  gone  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  when  he  was  back  again,  and  Kit  could  hear  his  feet 
rattling  impatiently  on  the  ladder  at  the  end  of  the  corn- 
chest  by  which  access  was  gained  to  the  "  laft  "  Avhere  they 
were  to  sleep. 

John  Smith  had  a  large  "  whang  "  of  scone  and  cheese  in 
his  hand,  which  he  gave  to  Kit  for  his  supper.  And  the 
boy  answered  his  master's  eager  questions  as  between  alter- 
nate bites  the  "Orra  Man"  bent  his  keen  face  over  the 
crackling  examination  papers.  The  whole  work  of  the  two 
days  must  be  gone  over  again,  and  the  light  had  begun  to 
ooze  up  from  the  east  like  gravy  througli  the  crust  of  a  pie 
before  the  "  Orra  Man"  delivered  his  final  judgment. 

'HVeak  in  mathematics,  good  in  English,  respectable  in 
Greek,  and  your  Latin  version  about  as  good  as  if  I  had 
done  it  myself."  > 

And  with  this  far  from  enthusiastic  forecast  Kit  had  to 
be  satisfied.  He  slept  as  soon  as  his  head  touched  the  pil- 
low. But  several  times  he  opened  his  eyes  as  he  turned 
over,  and  each  time  he  saw  the  "  Orra  Man"  with  the  light 
of  the  stable  lantern  still  upon  the  papers,  conning  each 
question  and  estimating  marks  and  deductions  upon  the 
margin  with  a  stubby  lead  pencil. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

THE    INNOCENCE   OF   BETTY    LANDSBOROUGH 

During  the  next  fortnight  the  "  Orra  Man"'  lost  weight. 
He  did  his  work  mechanically,  and  it  was  well  that  it 
happened  to  be  the  end  of  the  harvest  and  aAvet,  uncertain 
season.  For  there  was  much  to  do  at  Cairnharrow,  and 
that  kept  him  from  thinking.  He  had  estimated  Kit's 
chances  fifty  times,  and  forty  of  these  he  had  made  Kit 
ont  to  be  safe.  The  other  ten  it  seemed  to  him  impossi- 
ble that  the  lad  should  not  have  slipped  in  some  essential. 
Vague  fears  assailed  him  whether  he  himself  might  not 
have  lost  his  old  taste  and  knowledge,  and  be  judging  his 
pupil's  performance  too  high. 

But  at  last  the  great  day  came,  and  the  '^Orra  Man" 
asked  a  holiday  from  his  master. 

At  first  Ilogerson  of  Cairnharrow  demurred. 

"  Smith/'  he  said,  "what's  gane  wrang  wi'  ye  ?  Yo  are 
no  drinkin',  are  ye  ?  If  ye  are,  for  Guid  sake  gang  on  a 
spree  decently  and  hae  dune  "wi't.  For  I  canna  be  doin' 
wi'  thae  off  an'  on  ways — a  drappie  here  and  a  drappie  there, 
and  nae  satisfaction  ava' !" 

With  this  permit  and  a  number  of  commissions  to  be 
executed  in  Cairn  Edward,  the  "Orra  Man"  was  allowed  to 
depart  on  a  wet,  gusty  morning  in  late  September,  when 
the  winds  were  howling  mournfully  up  the  valley  with  that 
desolate  sound  which  is  heard  only  in  late  autumn,  when 
the  foliage,  dank  above  and  sodden  below,  swishes  hope- 
lessly this  way  and  that,  and  when  from  far  come  the  roar 


2G2    .  KIT    KENNEDY 

and  sougli  of  the  torrents  off  the  hills,  rising  and  falling, 
filling  and  thinning  out  again  with  a  certain  large  solem- 
nity of  note. 

Kit  had  been  at  the  Cottage  for  ten  daN's,  giving  himself 
little  anxiety  as  to  bursaries  and  colleges.  He  went  out 
each  day  with  his  grandfather  and  learned  the  whole  art 
and  science  of  stone-breaking.  He  broke  his  grandfather's 
spare  hammer-shaft  and  manufactured  a  new  and  better 
one.  Never  was  seen  such  a  pile  for  one  week's  Avork  as 
Kit  and  the  Elder  had  ready  on  Saturday  for  tlic  surveyor 
when  he  came  along  the  road  with  his  smart  gig  and  little 
light-trotting  nag. 

His  grandmother  purred  over  Kit  and  contrived  esoteric 
dainties  for  him.  His  uncle  Rob  the  forester  took  him  to 
see  the  damage  the  wild  goats  of  the  hills  had  done  the 
young  trees,  the  big  wasp's  nest  in  the  fir  on  the  hill-top 
(three  stings),  and  together  they  harried  six  humble-bees' 
storehouses  in  the  meadow  (one  sting  each).  Taken  for 
all  in  all  Kit  had  such  a  time  as  he  had  not  had  since  he 
first  went  to  school.  He  saw  his  mother  twice  for  an  hour 
at  a  time,  down  by  the  lochside  in  the  place  where  he  had 
promised  her  that  he  would  be  a  great  man. 

He  arranged  with  Lilias  that  upon  the  day  of  the  decla- 
ration of  the  result  he  wovild  put  up  on  a  certain  high  fir 
tree,  which  could  be  seen  from  the  windows  of  Kirkoswald, 
a  black  flag  in  token  of  defeat  and  a  white  if  he  should  be 
victorious.  But  he  warned  her  that  he  had  no  expecta- 
tions. He  had  indeed  made  preliminary  arrangements  to 
winter  as  "boy"  at  Cairnharrow.  But  all  the  same  (so  he 
had  consoled  her)  he  meant  to  keep  his  promise  and  be  a 
great  man. 

The  pleasantest  part  of  the  day  was  in  the  evening,  when 
Betty  Landsborough  always  asked  him  to  go  out  for  a  walk. 
Kit  was  now  fifteen,  tall  and  well  grown  for  his  age.  He 
had  had  his  ideas  as  to  love  and  the  worthiness  of  girls 
considerably  sharpened  by  a  certain  Vara  Kavannah  (she 


INNOCENCE    OF    J3ETTY    LANDSBOKOUGII  203 

does  not  come  into  this  story)*  who  had  sojourned  a  Avhile 
at  Loch  Spelhmderio, 

Betty  always  asked  him  which  way  he  wanted  to  go,  but 
as  invariably  turned  up  through  the  wood  in  the  direction 
of  the  bothies  where  dwelt  Eob  Armour  and  the  other 
three  foresters  of  the  Crae  estate. 

Betty  was  a  pretty  girl,  and  it  was  pleasant  enougli  to 
walk  beside  her,  especially  when  she  kept  her  hand  on 
your  shoulder — the  far  shoulder — and  did  not  resent  it  if 
(for  convenience  of  walking)  your  arm  went  round  her 
waist. 

They  talked  about  the  bursary  and  concerning  going  to 
college  and  about  Greek.  But  Betty'  s  eyes  were  always 
roaming  to  and  fro,  and  sometimes  she  would  answer  at 
random.  Which  was  strange,  considering  that  Kit  was 
explaining  so  interesting  a  subject  as  the  second  aorist  and 
when  it  should  not  be  used. 

"^Oh,  here's  Frank  Chisholm  and  Archie  Kinmont,  and 
— yes,  I  declare,  there's  Kob  I"  she  would  interrupt  with- 
out the  least  compunction. 

"  What  do  they  want  ?  They  are  always  prowling  where 
they  are  no  wanted,"  said  Kit,  discontentedly.  He  was 
getting  on  fine,  and  Betty  was  a  nice  girl. 

Betty  patted  him  on  the  cheek  and  leaned  a  little  more 
on  his  arm.  Kit  would  have  drawn  apart,  but  Betty  said, 
very  low,  "Stay  where  ye  are.  They  will  think  ye  are 
feared." 

So  Kit,  blushing  a  little,  but  feeliug,  as  well  he  might, 
strangely  flattered  and  elated,  kept  his  place  beside  the 
wicked  and  designing  Mistress  Elizabeth  Landsborongh. 

Then  Betty,  that  arch  traitress  and  tormenting  gadfly, 
would  sit  down  on  a  cut  tree,  either  quite  at  the  end  or 
close  against  a  branch  so  that  the  flank  of  the  position  was 
guarded.      This    done    she  would  pull  Kit  down  on  the 

*«.  "Cleg  Kelly,  Arab  of  the  City." 


204  KIT    KENNEDY 

other  side,  leaving  Rob  and  his  mates  to  find  accommoda- 
tion where  they  would.  This  they  did,  cither  on  the  dry 
pine  needles  or  with  their  backs  against  the  trees  them- 
selves. 

After  this  they  all  looked  at  Betty  Landsborongh  and 
Betty  talked  to  them,  playing  with  Kit^s  crisp  curls  mean- 
time, or  resting  a  dimpled  chin  on  his  shoulder  and  look- 
ing over  it  at  Rob  Armour. 

Kit  would  have  preferred  that  these  amenities  had  been 
accorded  him  in  private.  But  Betty  differed,  and  Kit 
always  made  the  best  of  things.  The  three  young  men 
sometimes  glowered  at  Kit  as  if  they  could  have  choked 
him,  but  apparently  that  only  made  Betty  fonder  of  him 
than  ever. 

It  was  curious  how  innocent  and  thoughtless  Betty  was. 
For  of  course  it  was  bound  to  make  the  others,  all  grown- 
up men  with  beards  and  mustaches,  very  jealous.  But 
Betty  never  thought  of  that,  and  took  Kit  with  her  every 
night  when  she  went  her  walk.  With  her  hand  on  Kit's 
shoulder,  she  coaxed,  reproached,  rallied,  said  daring 
tilings,  and  then  looked  modestly  down  after  she  had  said 
them,  always  in  case  of  need  appealing  to  her  protector  in 
the  sweetest  and  most  seductive  way. 

"  Is  it  no.  Kit?     Dinna  ye  think  sae.  Kit  ?" 

And  Kit  always  thought  so.  Tlien  worst  of  all  she  had 
a  way  of  picking  up  his  hand  and  patting  the  back  of  it  as 
they  sat  together,  which  was  fitted  to  drive  Frank  Chisholm 
and  Archie  Kinmont,  but  especially  Rob  Armour,  to  a 
dancing  distraction. 

All  three  hitched  in  their  seats  as  if  they  had  been  sit- 
ting on  whin  prickles,  instead  of  good  dry  pine  needles, 
and  for  half  an  hour  their  intentions  towards  Kit  were 
murderous.     But  it  was  all  Betty's  surprising  innocence. 

Then  they  walked  back  as  far  as  the  end  of  the  little 
loaning  with  Betty  and  her  swain.  They  did  not  come  any 
further  for  fear  of  meeting  the  Elder.    AVhereupon  taking 


INNOCENCE    OF    BETTY    LANDSBOROUGH   205 

leave  of  them,  Bett}'  and  Kit  walked  sedately  up  the  dusky- 
little  path  till  they  came  to  the  well  by  the  wayside.  In 
auother  moment  tliey  would  be  out  of  the  shadow  of  the 
trees.  Even  as  it  was  they  were  silhouetted  against  the 
clearness  of  the  western  sky,  and  it  occurred  to  Kit  that 
the  three  might  be  looking  after  them  with  tlieir  elbows 
on  the  topmost  bar  of  the  green  gate. 

But  it  was  evident  that  lietty  did  not  think  so.  For  she 
always  stopped  here,  and  turning  to  Kit  she  whispered 
softly,  "  Ye  can  gie  me  a  kiss  if  yo  like.  Kit !" 

And  Kit  did  so,  since  no  better  might  be.  It  was  all 
done  in  innocence,  of  course,  for  Betty  could  not  be  sus- 
pected of  purposely  arousing  bitter  or  envious  feelings  in 
the  breasts  of  those  who  had  never  done  her  any  harm. 
All  the  same  it  was  curious  how  completely  Betty  lost  her 
interest  in  evening  promenades  so  soon  as  she  was  sure 
that  the  three  foresters  had  gone  up  to  their  bothies. 

Kit  thought  it  his  duty,  towards  the  close  of  these  ton 
days  of  idleness  and  bliss,  to  remonstrate  gently  with  Betty 
Landsborough. 

"I  dinna  think  they  like  it,  Betty  !" 

Betty  smiled  an  innocent  smile,  and  said,  tenderly, 
"But,  Kit,  what  does  that  maittor  to  us  if  we  like  it?" 

Whereupon  Kit  intimated  that  in  fact  it  did  not  mat- 
ter. 

'MVeel,"  said  Betty,  with  an  air  of  finality,  "I  am  no 
dry-nursin'  Bob  Armour  and  the  ither  twa  that  I  ken  o'. 
Certes,  they  are  auld  eneuch  and  ugly  eneuch  to  look  after 
themselves." 

All  the  same  Kit  wished  that  Betty  was  not  quite  so 
innocent,  and  a  little  more  inclined  to  think  of  the  feelings 
of  others. 

Could  he  have  listened  to  the  conversation  of  the  three 
foresters  as  they  went  up  the  wood  to  their  bachelor  quar- 
ters, with  the  cue  owls  mewing  here  and  there  like  cats  in 
the  dark  green  gloom,  he  would  have  obtained   light   on 


266  KIT    KENNEDY 

several  tilings  that  were  as  yet  dark  to  liim.  For  the 
words  of  the  young  men  were  mysterious. 

•'She's  a  licht-headed,  deceitfu'  haverel,"  said  Rob 
Armour,  bitterly. 

''  But  she's  bonny,  Rob  !"  suggested  Frank  Chisholm. 

Rob  groaned  as  he  admitted  it. 

"I'll  wager  she  disna  care  a  preen  for  him.  He's  but 
a  laddie  onyway.  Betty  may  be  deceitfu',  but  she's  no 
daft !" 

It  was  poor  comfort,  but  the  best  that  Archie  Kinmont 
could  minister  to  a  mind  diseased. 

"  Aweel,"  said  Rob,  with  his  hand  on  the  latch  of  the 
bothie  door,  ''mean  it  or  no  mean  it,  I  ken  this,  that  I'll 
hae  nae  mair  to  do  with  Betty  Landsborough  frae  this  day 
forth.     Na,  I  have  dune  wi'  her!" 

"  That's  richt,  Rob,"  said  Frank  Chisholm,  consolingly  ; 
"  there's  plenty  will  be  glad  to  tak'  the  contrack  aff  your 
hands  as  it  stands,  wi'  a'  drawbacks  and  allowances !"    , 

Rob  Armour  slammed  the  door  in  his  friends'  faces.  lie 
felt  that  if  Job  had  murdered  his  comforters  it  would  have 
been  both  a  quicker  and  a  more  satisfactory  ending  to  that 
ancient  drama. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THE    GKEAT    DAY 

In  the  room  where  the  examination  liad  been  held,  com- 
monly called  the  "  Mnckle  Commy-toe  Room "  of  the 
Cairn  Edward  Arms,  the  candidates,  their  friends,  and  all 
whom  it  miglit  concern  Avere  assembled.  There  was  also 
what  is  called  in  local  papers  ''a  large  and  influential  at- 
tendance of  the  general  public,"  including  as  usual  many 
whom  the  matter  did  not  at  all  concern. 

The  examiner  was  not  present.  But  he  had  forwarded 
his  report  with  all  the  figures,  which  were  there  to  speak 
for  him.  Mr.  Ebenezer  Fleming,  W.S.,  Secretary  of  the 
United  Galloway  Associations,  Avas  standing  behind  the 
table,  with  the  Provost  by  his  side  to  confer  a  certain  fla- 
vor of  official  dignity  to  the  proceedings.  These  were  un- 
derstood to  be  the  only  two  who  knew  the  true  state  of  the 
poll.  This  seems  likely,  for  the  Provost  kept  wide  of  his 
wife,  to  whom  he  dared  not  refuse  to  tell  anything  that  he 
was  known  to  know. 

Mrs.  MacWalter  of  Loch  Spellanderie  sat  with  lier  son 
in  the  front  row.  Both  wore  their  best  clothes,  and  John 
had  already  adopted  the  sedate  demeanor  and  style  of  ad- 
dress which  is  most  consistent  with  the  position  of  a  First 
Bursar. 

Rob  Grier  sat  beside  Kit,  who  was  telling  himself  that 
he  was  not  anxious,  that  he  did  not  want  to  go  to  Edin- 
burgh, and  that  he  would  be  happier  at  farm  work  anyway. 

*''  I  wish  I  had  a  forehammer  here  and  something  to  ding 


208  KIT    KENNEDY 

the  sparks  oot  o',"  said  Eob  Grier  ;  ''man,  I  canna  keep 
my  bauds  still.  There's  something  gangs  ''  kittle-kittle  '  in 
my  loofs.''  ' 

In  the  remote  corner,  paler  and  more  worn  with  anxiety 
than  any  of  the  candidates,  the  "  Orra  Man  "was  hidden 
away. 

Nevertheless,  the  Provost  eyed  him  and  hunted  his  mind 
for  a  resemblance,  which,  of  course,  as  soon  as  he  tried  to 
fix  it  as  persistently  eluded  him. 

"I  have  seen  that  face  before  somewhere,"  he  said. 
And  so  he  had.     He  had  been  most  of  his  life  on  the 
committee   which  appointed  the  classical  masters  to  the 
Academy  of  Cairn  Edward. 

Then  he  called  upon  the  secretary  to  read  the  report  of 
the  examiner.  Now  Mr.  Ebenezer  Fleming  very  properly 
believed  in  magnifying  his  office.  All  that  any  soul  then 
present  wanted  was  to  know  the  name  of  the  successful 
candidate,  and  then  get  away  as  quickly  as  possible.  But 
Mr.  Ebenezer  Fleming  was  in  no  such  hurry.  The  law  has 
many  delays,  which  is  the  reason  why  many  lawyers  are 
rich. 

Therefore  he  entered  into  a  good  comprehensive  review, 
through  heedless  of  the  uneasy  mutterings  of  sufferers 
scattered  through  the  hall.  He  went  over  the  history  of 
county  organizations,  their  feeble  past,  their  magnificent 
prospects.  He  recounted  the  foundations  of  the  United 
Galloway  Societies  of  which  he  had  the  honor,  and  so 
forth.  He  gave  the  names  of  past  presidents  and  secreta- 
ries. He  went  over  the  bequests  which  had  been  set  aside 
for  the  purposes  of  this  bursary.  He  furnished  lists  of 
past  bursars  and  the  honors  they  had  obtained — omitting 
the  third  last,  who  had  just  got  seven  years  for  forgery. 

The  murmur  in  the  hall  steadily  grew  to  a  rumbling. 
But  with  dramatic  effect  the  secretary  produced  complete 
silence  and  restored  the  former  state  of  strained  attention 
among  his  audience. 


THE    GREAT    DAY  269 

''But  on  the  present  occasion/' lie  said,  in  a  clear  voice, 
"the  successful  candidate  is — " 

He  paused,  and  then  deliberately  began  to  take  another 
cast  back. 

''But  perhaps  I  had  better  read  first  what  Doctor  Mac- 
Lagan  says  about  the  papers  in  general — " 

But  here  he  had  overreached  himself.  His  companion 
on  the  platform  was  on  his  feet. 

"Tell  the  laddies,"  said  the  more  humane  Provost,  who 
was  not  a  lawyer;  "gin  ye  dinna,  I'll  tell  them  mysel',  and 
pit  them  oot  o'  pain." 

The  secretary  looked  a  moment  as  if  he  would  like  to 
rebel,  but  the  Provost  Avas  leaning  forward  with  a  name  ob- 
viously on  his  lip,  and  the  lawyer  knew  that  he  would  be 
as  cood  as  his  word.  It  would  be  a  lesson  to  him  in  the 
future  to  keep  all  truly  important  matters  to  himself. 

"The  successful  candidate  on  this  occasion"' — here  he 
cleared  his  throat  deliberately  as  a  final  irritation — "is 
Christopher  Kennedy,  who  has  obtained  a  total  of  7GG 
marks !" 

There  was  a  noise  of  feet,  a  gabble  of  voices.  The  words, 
"  Oh,  the  deceitf u'  vaigabond  !"  were  heard  from  the  vicin- 
ity of  Mrs.  MacWalter.  And  with  a  loud  clatter  of  iron- 
shod  clogs  the  "  Orra  Man"  trampled  out  of  the  hall. 

Kit  sat  fixed  and  cold,  thinking  vaguely  of  his  mother. 
Rob  Grier  from  Garlies  turned  and  gripped  his  hand  as  in 
a  vice. 

"  Man,"  he  said,  "ye  deserve  it.  Ye  hae  dune  well. 
I'll  hae  to  gang  back  to  the  forohammer  (here  a  kind  of  dry 
sob  caught  him  by  the  throat).  But  it's  a'  I'm  fit  for  ony- 
way.     And  wi'  a'  my  heart  I  wish  ye  joy  !" 

Kit  felt  he  was  making  a  poor  appearance  beside  the 
great-hearted  smith,  but  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not 
think  on  anything  to  say.  lie  only  gripped  his  late  oppo- 
nent's hand,  and  the  tears  rose  in  his  eyes. 

"Hoots,  man,"  said  Rob  Grier,  "it's  a'  richt,  and  as  it 


270  KIT    KENNEDY 

slionld  be.  I  aye  kenned  that  it  was  a'  np  wi'  me  as  soon 
as  I  heard  ye  gang  ower  your  Latin  version  as  fast  as  a 
horse  could  trot." 

By  this  time  most  of  the  people  were  on  their  feet  to  de- 
part, but  the  secretary  had  more  to  say.  lie  held  up  his 
hand  for  silence.  "I  do  not  wish  to  trouble  you  with  the 
entire  report,  but  there  is  one  thing  with  which  I  must 
conclude." 

"  There  is  one  name  which  comes  next  to  that  of  Chris- 
topher Kennedy  —  some  way  behind  indeed,  but  so  far 
ahead  of  the  others  that  the  Committee  of  the  Associa- 
tions has  resolved  to  give  that  candidate  a  subsidiary  bur- 
sary of  a  smaller  value.  The  name  of  that  candidate  is 
Eobert  Grier  of  Garlieston." 

It  was  now  Kit's  turn  to  shake  his  friend  heartily  by  the 
hand,  and  the  Avords  came  back  to  him  with  a  rush. 

"  I  declare  I  am  gladder  than  aboot  my  ain,"  he  said, 
"  bnt  ye  should  hae  had  the  best  yin  !" 

The  secretary  read  the  other  marks,  concerning  which 
the  only  notable  thing  was  that  the  name  of  John  Mac- 
Walter  came  last.  Then  he  added  the  very  necessary  rider, 
"  If  the  bursar  and  the  subsidiary  successful  candidate 
will  apply  to  me  at  my  office  at  99  St.  Andrew's  Square 
(first  floor,  second  door  to  the  left),  one  of  my  clerks  will 
pay  them  the  moneys  due  to  them,  and  they  can  forward 
to  me,  also  at  St.  Andrew's  Square,  certificates  of  attend- 
ance at  the  close  of  each  session." 

Then  the  secretary  folded  up  his  papers  in  a  glow  at 
having  so  satisfactorily  acquitted  himself,  and  especially 
at  having  got  in  a  litttle  advertisement  of  his  own  impor- 
tance and  place  of  business  in  the  most  harmless  and  natu- 
ral way. 

For  even  writers  to  the  signet  are  human. 

Mrs.  MacWalter  was  at  the  hall  door  before  Kit  and  in 
waiting  for  him. 

"  Ye  nameless  blackguard — you   that  for  years  ate  the 


THE    GREAT    DAY  271 

bread  o'  a  decout  houscliold  and  then  lifted  up  your  heel 
again'  them.  A  kennin'  niair,  an'  I  wad  claw  tiie  e'en  oot 
o'  your  face.  This  is  the  meanin'  o'  your  carryin's  on  and 
your  Black  Sheds.  I'll  write  to  them  that  gies  the  siller, 
and  see  if  they  haud  wi'  sic'  black  ingratitude — that  I  wull !" 

''Did  I  not  do  my  Avark,  Mistress  MacWalter?"said  Kit, 
very  quietly,  being  anxious  to  get  away  and  find  the  "Orra 
Man." 

"  Your  wark — what  has  that  got  to  do  wi'  it  ?  Ye  hae 
ta'en  the  bite  oot  o'  my  John's  mouth,  puir  laddie.  I 
wadna  wunner  gin  he  was  to  do  himsel'  a  mischief.  He's 
that  upset  aboot  it !" 

Kit  passed  on,  but  the  voice  of  his  late  mistress  pursued 
him  up  the  street. 

"And  I'll  tell  John  Mac  Walter,  so  I  wull,  that  he's  richt 
served  for  takin'  naebody-kens-whas  intil  his  hoose  to  de- 
prave his  lawfully-begotten  bairns.  And  I'll  tell  Walter 
Mac  Walter  that  he  can  keep  his  wife's  misfortunes  at 
hame  after  this  —  defraudin'  honest  folk  o'  their  just 
dues  !" 

''My  good  woman,"  said  the  secretary,  suavely,  "pray 
do  not  fret  yourself.  Your  boy  would  not  have  got  the 
money  evcji  if  Christopher  Kennedy  had  not  been  success- 
ful. And  the  boy's  character  is  without  blemish,  as  I  have 
two  ministers'  certificates  to  testify." 

"Dinna  '  Guid  Avumman'  me,"  she  cried  in  a  louder 
voice.  "I  am  nac  guid  wumman,  and  that  I  wad  hae  ye 
ken.  What  I  say  is  that  my  Johnny  didna  get  fair  play 
amang  ye,  and  that  I  am  weel  sure  o'.  For  the  Dominie 
says  there's  no  the  like  o'  him  in  ten  parishes.  Mair  nor 
that,  this  Doctor  MacLagan,  he's  nae  better  than  he's 
caa'ed,  or  he  wadna  alooed  a  servant  to  be  pitten  before  his 
maister,  or  his  maister's  son,  for  that's  the  same  thins:. 
And  gin  the  law  was  as  I  would  hae  it,  the  siller  should  be 
my  Johnny's  even  as  it  is.  For  instead  o'  gieing  the  thirty 
guid  pounds  to  this  ungratefu'  blackguard,  it  wad  declare 


272  KIT    KENNEDY 

Cliristoplier  Kennedy  should  hae  sjient  his  time  learniu' 
his  inaister's  son,  as  it  was  his  bounden  duty  to  do.  What 
business  had  he  to  ken  mair  nor  oor  Jock,  that  has  aye  had 
the  best  of  book  learnin',  and  him  but  a  chance-gotten 
callant  keepit  aboot  the  hoose  out  o'  charity,  Avhen  a'  is 
said  and  dune  !" 

But  except  in  thus  easing  her  mind  Mistress  Mac  Walter 
got  no  redress,  but  all  the  household  had  a  terrible  time  of 
it  when  she  got  home  to  Loch  Spellanderie. 

Meanwhile,  the  new  Bursar  Designate  was  seeking  the 
"  Orra  Man "  from  public  to  public  over  the  town.  He 
wanted  to  thank  the  man  who  had  done  this  thing  for  him. 

But  it  was  live  in  the  afternoon  when,  after  being  thrice 
turned  from  the  door  and  thrice  denied  at  the  bar, 
Kit  ran  him  to  earth  in  the  inner  parlor  of  the  Black  Boar. 
He  would  have  missed  him  a  fourth  time  but  for  the  eagle 
eye  and  trained  legal  intelligence  of  the  Sheriff's  officer. 

But  W^illie  Gilroy  responded  to  Kit's  questionings,  ''See 
your  friend  ?  Of  coorse  I  saw  him.  He's  drinkin'  liimsel' 
fu'  in  the  Black  Boar.  They  tell  ye  that  he's  no  there  ? 
Man,  ye  ken  little,  an'  you  a  learnit  man  they  tell  me,  gin 
ye  believe  a  single  word  that  Becky  Snodgrass  wad  say  to 
ye  ?  Gang  richt  in,  I  tell  ye,  and  see  for  yoursel'.  And 
if  they  try  to  hinder  ye,  threaten  them  that  ye  Avili  bring 
a  polissman  !  Faith,  that  will  do  your  business  if  I  ken 
Mistress  Becky.  She  never  could  stand  the  silver  buttons 
a'  the  days  o'  her." 

Accordingly  in  the  Black  Boar,  tumbled  on  a  sofa  of 
worn  hair-cloth,  Kit  found  the  "Orra  Man" — dead  drunk. 

He  did  not  heed  the  angry  tongue  of  Mistress  Becky. 
He  knelt  tlown  before  his  friend  and  besought  him  to 
awake,  for  Kit  had  seen  little  of  intoxication.  But  the 
"  Orra  Man  "  only  groaned. 

"Oh,  this  is  terrible — terrible,"  said  Kit;  "I  wish  I  had 
never  gotten  the  bursary  if  I  hae  driven  him  to  this." 

It  chanced  that   at  this   moment  Mistress   Mac  Walter 

• 


THE    GREAT    DAY  273 

passed  the  door  on  her  way  "  to  change  her  breath  afore 
she  gaed  mto  that  cauld  machine."  She  caught  sight  of 
Kit  through  the  open  door  and  cried  out,  "  There  a  bonny 
bursar  !  Didna  I  tell  ye  ?  To  think  that  the  like  o'  him, 
that  companies  with  a'  the  drucken  and  debauched  in  the 
countryside,  should  tak'  the  gowden  guineas  oot  o'  my 
innocent  Johnny's  pooch.  I  declare  I'll  juist  gang  this 
verra  minute  and  fetch  that  secretary  man  to  see  this 
sicht." 

But  by  this  time  Willie  Gilroy  was  on  the  spot  as  a  re- 
inforcement. 

"In  the  name  of  the  law,"  he  cried,  grandly,  "woman, 
what  is  this  disturbance  opposite  to  my  property  ?  I  will 
serve  a  notice  on  you  instantly  !"  And  Willie  drew  out 
his  legal  case.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  like  some  other  offi- 
cials of  greater  authority,  Willie  somewhat  traded  on  his 
neighbor's  ignorance. 

"There's  nae  disturbance,  maister Officer," said  the  land- 
lady Becky  Snodgrass,  with  twittering  anxiety.  "I'm  as 
desirous  of  getting  this  man  awa'  without  a  disturbance 
as—" 

"  Gang  for  his  beast  and  cairt,  boy,  and  I'll  wait  here 
wi'  the  body,"  said  Willie,  as  if  he  were  about  to  bury  a 
fifth  wife.  "  I  dinna  care  gin  I  gang  a  bit  of  the  road 
hame  wi'  ye  mysel'." 

Within  ten  minutes  the  red  cart,  with  Mary  Gray  be- 
tween the  shafts,  was  at  the  front  door  of  the  Black  13oar. 

"  This  is  your  wark,  Betty  Snodgrass,"  said  the  Man  of 
Law,  "and  gin  he  dies  within  twenty-fower  hours — weel, 
there  hasna  been  a  woman  hangit  hereawa'  since  Mary 
Timny.     It  wad  be  a  great  occasion." 

The  unconscious  "  Orra  Man"  was  brought  out  and  laid 
gently  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart.  Then  with  Willie  on 
one  shaft  and  Kit  driving  on  the  other  they  rattled  away 
through  tlie  buzz  and  stir  of  the  afternoon.  Kit  covered 
his  friend  from  prying  eyes  beneath  a  couple  of  corn  sacks. 
18 


274  KIT    KENNEDY 

He  himself  enjoyed  a  popularity  ho  had  never  known  be- 
fore, being  pointed  out  as  the  ''farm-lad  that  beat  a' the 
ither  laddies  frae  the  schules  an'  academies." 

Kit  looked  anxious  lest  the  Provost  of  the  town,  who 
shook  hands  with  him  seated  with  his  feet  on  the  shaft, 
should  wonder  what  freight  he  was  carrying  home. 

"  Weel  dune,  Whinnyliggate,''  cried  the  Provost,  heart- 
ily. "  ril  send  ye  a  barrel  o'  herrin'  to  the  lodgings  when 
ye  gang  to  Edinbra.  They  gang  fine  wi'  a  cup  o'  tea  and 
kitchen  baker's  bread,  so  that  ye  wadna  ken  it  frae  soda 
scones." 

But  it  were  not  till  they  were  clear  of  the  town,  and 
driving  up  the  long  waterside  of  the  Kells  Water,  that 
Kit  really  felt  comfortable  in  his  mind.  He  wanted  to 
get  to  the  Cottage  of  Crae  before  the  fall  of  the  evening, 
for  he  had  his  signal  to  make  to  his  mother.  He  knew 
that  she  Avould  be  watching  eagerly  from  her  lonely  win- 
dow in  the  red  freestone  front  of  Kirkoswald. 

Willie  Gilroy  Avas  every  whit  as  eager  as  Kit.  He  wanted 
to  see  Betty  Landsborough,  and  he  had  a  question  to  ask 
of  her.  So  Mary  Gray  had  no  rest  for  the  soles  of  her  four 
feet,  and  Kit  urged  her  into  a  five-mile  gait,  a  speed  she 
had  not  attained  for  years. 

Kit  mourned  over  his  friend  and  refused  to  be  com- 
forted. 

"He's  never  been  like  this,"  he  said.  "I  wad  raither 
no  hae  had  the  bursary  than  that  he  said  do  the  like  o' 

this  !" 

"Hoot,"  said  Willie,  "he  shouldna  hae  tried  to  break 
himsel'  a'  at  yince.  The  cravin'  wad  juist  bank  up  like  a 
water  ahint  a  dam  — and  i\\Qi\  — whoosh,  awa'  she  gaed. 
This  Avill  maybe  do  him  guid,  gin  ye  can  keep  it  frae  the 
kennin'  o'  his  maister.  No  that  Cairnharrow  has  only 
richt  to  be  very  particular.  I  hae  seen  him  gangin'  oot  o' 
the  toon  gye  an'  coggly  in  his  gig  himsel' !" 

In  the  meadow  opposite  to  the  Crac  Cottage  Kit  pulled 


THE    GREAT    DAY  375 

the  cart  up.     "Bide  yon  here/'  he  said ;  "I'll  no  be  away 
a  quarter  o'  an  hour — " 

"Bring  me  word  what  Betty  Landsboronglrs  doin'. 
And  gin  ye  get  a  chance,  tell  her  that  there's  a  lad  wantin' 
to  see  her  at  the  loan  end." 

"  What  if  she'll  no  come  ?"  suggested  Kit. 

Willie  Gilroy  closed  an  eyelid. 

"Dinna  tell  her  wha  the  lad  is,  and  I'se  warrant  gin 
she's  a  woman  ava,  she'll  come  to  see  wha  is  it  ?" 

Kit  shook  his  head.  He  knew  that  the  Sheriff's  officer 
was  only  preparing  additional  disappointment  for  himself. 
He  remembered  the  three  foresters  and  how  Betty  had 
treated  them.  He  was  glad  he  was  not  to  be  present  at 
this  new  flouting  of  honest  affection. 

"  Betty's  weel  and  weel  eneuch,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  but 
for  the  life  o'  me  I  dinna  see  Avhat  a'  the  fyke's  aboot 
'  Betty  this '  and  '  Betty  that '  !" 

He  ran  across  the  great  stepping-stones,  which  time  out 
of  mind  have  carried  the  feet  of  home-returning  men  over 
the  cool  brown  bend  of  the  Crae  water  into  the  dusky 
woods,  in  which  the  tang  of  the  cottage  peat  reek  hangs 
like  the  peculiar  incense  of  home. 

The  Crae  stepping-stones  !  Kit  had  crossed  them  on  his 
grandfather's  back  when  he  was  yet  too  young  to  stride  the 
glossy  interspaces  of  brown  moss  water.  He  had  paddled 
with  bare  feet  between  them  as  he  grew  older.  He  knew 
the  green  stars  of  bottom  Aveed,  the  little  peeping  Avhorls  of 
water  starvvort,  the  tall  rushes  on  either  bank,  which  grew 
thickest  where  the  water  divides  round  a  little  ten-yard 
square  island  all  overgrown  with  red  purple  willow  herb. 
There  are  just  ten  stepping-stones  big  and  little.  You  wade 
chin  deep  in  the  creamy  spray  of  meadow  sweet  to  get  to 
them.  Gowans  tickle  your  chin  as  you  turn  ujo  your 
trousers.  The  trout  spurt  this  way  and  that  as  your  shadow 
falls  on  the  water.     Witli  what  a  pleasant  sound  the  wave- 


276  KIT    KENNEDY 

lets  ripple  about  5'-our  legs  as  you  mount  Auld  Cairnsmore, 
the  big  granite  bowlder  in  the  middle.  On  rushes  the 
Crae  water  with  a  little  silvery  water-break  and  a  smooth 
glide  over  a  stone  which  it  has  worn  away  till  its  head  is 
beneath  the  surface.  Then  with  three  strides  and  half  a 
jump  you  are  on  the  pine-needles,  and  the  resinous  smell  of 
the  firs  stings  your  nostrils. 

Verily  it  is  good  to  be  young  and  to  taste  these  things. 
They  are  good  to  taste  even  if  one  is  old. 


CHAPTER  XXXVITI 

THE    FLAG    UPO]sr   THE    PIjSTE 

But  Kit  had  no  time  to  linger  now.  lie  went  across  at 
a  run,  and  his  appreciation  of  the  rich  twilight  glow  along 
the  waterside  took  no  other  form  than  the  drawins:  of  a 
long  breath  as  he  ran  np  the  path  towards  the  cottage. 

Now  he  must  climb  the  tree  for  his  mother's  sake.  She 
must  know  first.  So  up  the  smooth  trunk  of  the  tall  pine 
on  the  top  of  the  crag  above  the  cottage  Kit  swarmed  with 
the  easy  progression  of  a  born  woodland's  boy.  The  flag 
was  the  handkerchief  his  grandmother  had  given  him  fresh 
and  clean  the  day  before.  With  a  recklessness  which 
would  have  shocked  his  uncle,  the  forester,  he  stripped 
the  top  of  the  pine  that  his  flag  might  fly  free.  The  sun 
shone  out  from  behind  a  cloud ;  and  Kit's  signal  took  the 
air  at  the  same  moment. 

What  was  his  mother  thinking  now  ?    Did  she  see  it  ? 

We  may  be  sure  that  she  did. 

It  chanced  that  at  that  moment  her  husband,  AValter 
Mac  Walter,  was  amusing  himself  witli  taunting  her,  as  was 
his  custom  when  ruffled  outside. 

"  I  married  you  for  your  beauty,"  he  was  saying,  "and 
how  much  of  it  have  I  ever  seen  ?  You  go  about  drooping 
like  a  barn-door  hen  on  a  wet  day.  I  cannot  bring  my 
friends  to  the  house,  for  your  face  is  like  a  death's-head 
at  a  feast.  It  is  all  that  boy  of  yours.  You  think  more  of 
liim — more  of  his  blackguard  father  even  now — than  of  me 
that  made  you  mistress  of  Kirkoswald.    Deny  it  if  you  can  !" 


278  KIT    KENNEDY 

Lilias  his  wife  did  not  ansAver.  Slie  did  not  even  look 
at  him.  His  words  did  not  hurt  her,  for  in  the  honse- 
liold  only  the  voices  of  those  one  loves  have  power  to 
wound.     He  went  on. 

"Yes/'  he  said,  "I  am  nothing.  I  never  was  anything 
to  you  except  a  convenient  means  of  paying  your  father's 
debts.  But  the  day  will  come  when  the  boy  you  dote  upon 
shall  break  your  heart  with  sorrow.  He  is  his  father's 
son,  and  already  he  companies  with  the  lowest.  In  ten 
years  he  will  be — well,  what  his  father  has  become.  You 
do  not  believe  it,  but  I  know." 

"If  you  had  your  will  I  doubt  not — "  Lilias,  the  mother 
of  Kit,  was  beginning.  But  in  a  moment  she  commanded 
herself  and  was  silent. 

Her  husband  laughed. 

"You  do  well  not  to  defend  him.  I  tell  you  he  will 
grow  up  an  ignorant  boor,  a  public-house  sot,  the  com- 
panion of  the  vilest.  Kit  Kennedy  by  name  shall  be 
Christoj)her  Kennedy  by  nature." 

At  that  moment  Lilias  saw  something  far  over  the 
heaped  masses  of  tree-tops  down  by  the  waterside.  She 
was  standing  near  the  great  wide  window  of  Kirkoswald 
which  looked  to  the  south.  She  had  her  eyes  on  a  par- 
ticular pine-tree  which,  being  perched  boldly  on  a  jutting 
crag,  rose  half  its  height  above  the  wood.  She  often  stood 
here  and  looked  over  the  wide  misty  valley  with  eyes  as 
full  of  luminous  haze.  But  what  she  saw  thasfc  night  made 
her  heart  beat  and  the  landscape  waver  before  her  face. 
The  sun  was  setting,  and  shot  a  last  level  flood  of  rays  up 
the  glen  from  the  west.  A  moment  the  top  of  the  pine-tree 
stood  dark  against  the  sky.  The  next  a  little  white  square 
flew  out,  danced  in  the  unsteady  breeze,  and  sank  down 
limp  by  its  flag-staff.  Then  it  blew  out  again,  and  with  a 
last  expiring  effort  the  sun  caught  and  glorified  it,  so  that 
it  burned  like  a  sparkle  from  the  crystal  river  that  is  about 
the  Throne. 


TiiE    FLAG    UPON    THE    PINE  279 

Lilias  the  mother  turned  to  her  husband  and  smiled. 
And  from  that  moment  she  heard  not  a  word  that  he 
said.  She  only  looked  at  him  with  the  light  of  a  new 
knowledge  in  her  eyes.  The  man  rose  and  went  out, 
angrily  slamming  the  door  after  him.  He  saw  that  some- 
how her  soul  had  escaped  him  for  that  time,  but  in  his 
dark  heart  he  set  himself  more  bitterly  than  ever  to  eifect 
the  ruin  of  Lilias's  son. 

From  the  pine-tree  on  the  summit  Kit  descended  at  a 
run  heedless  of  his  clothes,  his  Sunday  suit  though  it  was, 
and  in  due  time  to  serve  him  at  college  through  the  winter. 
He  left  the  handkerchief  flying  for  his  mother  to  see  in  the 
morning. 

His  grandfather  was  sitting  on  the  seat  before  the  door, 
putting  a  new  shaft  into  a  "knapping"  hammer.  At  the 
Dornal  Matthew  Armour  had  been  as  he  himself  said  "an 
auld  done  man,"  but  with  the  renewed  need  for  work  his 
youth  seemed  to  have  returned  to  him  in  a  sort  of  gracious 
Indian  summer  of  unabated  natural  strength. 

He  did  not  hear  Kit  till  the  boy  Avas  quite  near  him. 
Kit  stole  behind  the  old  man  on  tiptoe.  His  heart  was  now 
proud  within  him.  It  was  worth  while  living  for  this.  Kit 
had  the  same  elation  of  spirit  as  when  he  joined  the  rejoicing 
uplift  of  Old  Hundred-and-Twenty-Fourth  in  the  Kirk  on 
the  Hill,  a  sort  of  high  godward  pride  that  was  Avholly  imper- 
sonal. He  had  been  an  unprofitable  son.  He  had  run  away 
from  home.  He  had  made  them  suffer,  but  uoav  once  for  all 
this  would  make  up.  He  stood  looking  at  his  grandfather, 
glorying  in  what  he  had  to  tell.  He  hummed  the  swelling 
notes  of  his  favorite  Psalm  tune  like  those  of  a  trumpet  that 
sounds  the  charge  when  the  enemy  are  already  in  full  flight. 

"Now  Israel  may  say, 
And  that  truly — 
If  that  the  Lord 
Had  not  our  cause  maintained" — 


280  KIT    KENNEDY 

" GrandfaWier — grandfaithcr !   IMe gotten  the  hursary!" 

The  words  written  and  printed  look  lilvc  an  anti-climax. 
They  had  even  a  ludicrous  apj)carance.  But  not  in  the 
Cot  in  the  wood,  not  to  these  simple  folk  to  whom  the 
chance  of  a  good  education  comes  next  to  a  good  con- 
science towards  God. 

The  Elder  rose  and  stood  with  his  tall  grandson  before 
him.  He  did  not  look  at  Kit.  His  eyes  were  far  over  the 
tree-tops.  He  looked  at  the  hills  from  whence  had  come 
his  aid.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  the  boy's  head  and  lifted 
up  the  other. 

''0  Lord,"  he  said,  "I  have  loved  the  habitation  of  Thy 
House,  the  place  where  Thine  honor  dwelleth.  One  thing 
have  I  desired,  not  for  myself  but  for  this  fatherless 
son  of  mine  old  age.  Thou  hast  given  me  more  than  my 
heart's  desirings.  jSTow  let  Thy  servant  depart  in  peace, 
for  mine  eyes  have  seen  Thy  salvation  !" 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said,  quite  naturally, 
''Let  us  go  in  and  tell  Margaret." 

"  And  Betty !"  added  Kit,  so  hapjjy  that  he  could  leave 
no  one  out. 

Then  who  so  made  of  as  Kit  Kennedy  !  His  grand- 
mother wept  upon  his  shoulder,  and  Betty  kissed  him  out- 
right, again  and  yet  again,  in  another  fashion  than  she  was 
Avont  to  do  for  the  painful  benefit  of  Eob  Armour  and  the 
two  foresters. 

"  Oh,  laddie,  I  wad  gie  a  paper  pound  gin  your  puir 
mother  could  ken  this  niclit !" 

"  She  kens  !     She  kens  \"  cried  thrice  triumphant  Kit. 

His  grandmother  stood  up  aghast. 

"  Wi'  boy,  ye  never  dared  gang  up  to  that  place  to  face 
that  dreadsome  man." 

"  1  wad  face  him  or  onybody,"  said  the  valiant  First 
Bursar,  "  that  is,  gin  I  didna  think  my  mither  Avad  hae  to 
suffer  for  it  after.     But  I  dinna  need  to  gang." 


M 

a 
o 

a 
w 

o 
■^ 

H 


THE    FLAG    UPON    THE    PINE  281 

lie  led  his  grandmother  to  the  window  and  pointed  up. 

''There!"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  fluttering  scrap  of 
white,  "that's  how  my  mither  kens." 

''Ye're  a  genius.  Kit,"  said  Betty  Landsborough  ;  "I 
wish  I  could  wait  for  ye." 

Then  Kit  remembered  about  the  "Orra  Man"  and  AVillie 
(lilroy, 

"  I  maun  gang  my  ways  up  to  Cairnh arrow  the  nicht.  I 
hae  my  work  to  do.  I  promised  that  I  wad  gang  on  wi' 
that  till  I  was  ready  for  the  college." 

"But  no  the  nicht.  Kit,"  said  his  grandmother;  "bide 
with  us  this  ae  nicht." 

"Aye,"  said  Betty,  "bide  this  ae  nicht,  and  we'll  no 
gang  up  by  the  bothie,  but  doou  by  the  waterside,  gin  ye 
like/" 

But  Kit  could  not  for  this  time  take  advantage  of  the 
gifts  of  the  gods. 

He  shook  his  head  sadly, 

"  Na,"  he  said,  "  I  hae  my  work  to  do,  bursar  or  no  bur- 
sar. A  man  is  nae  better  than  his  word,  and  Cairnharrow 
trusted  me." 

"  The  lad  is  right,"  said  the  Elder ;  "  to  me  it  is  better 
than  any  honor  or  emolument  that  he  desires  this  night  to 
do  his  duty.     Let  him  go  I" 

So  Kit  went  down  the  path,  and  Betty  came  with  him  as 
far  as  the  stepping-stones.  She  bade  him  good-bye  in  the 
shade  of  the  last  tree,  and  if  Rob  Armour  and  the  two 
foresters  had  been  within  sight  they  would  have  had  good 
cause  for  jealousy. 

Betty  was  crying  when  she  sent  him  off. 

"  Gang — gang,"  she  said,  pushing  Kit  away  ;  "  I  am  ower 
proud  o'  ye  to  hearken  a  single  word.  A  laddie  manna 
hamper  himsel'  wi'  thae  things  at  your  ago.  But  a'  the 
same  ye  are  a  brave  laddie  !  And  —  it  micht  hae  been 
itherwise." 

The  cart  was  in  the  self-same  place  when  Kit  came  across 


282  KIT    KENNEDY 

the  stepping-stones,  and  Willie  Gilroy  sat  very  still  and 
silent  upon  it. 

He  sj)oke,  however,  as  soon  as  Kit  came  up. 

"Was  yon  Betty  Landsborough  that  was  at  the  water- 
side wi'  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Kit,  with  eyes  yet  wet,  "it  was  Betty  !" 

"Did  ye — did  ye  mention  the  subjeck  to  her  ?" 

"No,"  said  Kit,  smitten  with  remorse,  "I  clean  forgot !" 

Willie  Gilroy  bounded  from  the  seat  of  the  cart  with  an 
energy  far  more  youthful  than  his  years. 

"Betty,  Betty,"  he  cried.  "  Oh,  she  winna  stop  for  me. 
Cry  you,  Kit  !" 

"Betty,  Betty  Landsborough,"  cried  Kit,  touching  up 
Mary  Gray  and  jDlunging  into  the  shadows  of  the  Dornal 
Bank.  He  looked  about  him.  The  "'  Orra  Man"  had  not 
stirred  under  his  coverings. 

The  Sheriff's  officer  was  absent  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  but 
just  as  Kit  was  taking  the  rising  ground  before  the  crossing 
of  the  Dee  Bridge,  where  the  high-backed  arch  strides  across 
the  turbulent  rapids  of  the  dark  river,  he  heard  a  hail  behind 
him.  And  lo !  as  he  looked  back,  there  was  Willie  Gilroy 
running  with  a  little  harvester's  trot.  He  had  made  a  short 
cut  through  the  woods  to  overtake  Kit  and  was  out  of 
breath. 

"I'll  come  wi'  you  this  nicht.  Kit  Kennedy,"  he  said. 
"  What  like  are  the  lasses  aboot  Cairnharrow  ?  Are  there 
ony  o'  them  that  a  man  might  mak'  up  till  ?" 

"But  I  thought  that  ye  were  fond  o'  Betty  ?"  said  Kit, 
astonished  at  Willie's  proposition. 

"Ow,"  said  the  Sheriff's  officer,  with  a  lofty  contempt, 
"  Betty  Landsborough's  no  what  I  took  her  for.  I  consider 
her  most  michtily  overrated — indeed,  a  perfect  intak  I" 

"Betty's  nocht  o'  the  sort,"  said  Kit,  valiantly.  "I'll 
no  hae  ye  on  my  cairt,  kind  to  me  as  ye  have  been,  if  ye 
miscaa  Betty." 

"I'm   no   miscaain' onybody,"  said  the  widower   more 


TilE    FLAG    UPON    TJiE    TINE  283 

soberly,  "  bat  I  clinna  think  that  she  wad  mak'  an  appro- 
priate successor  to  Mary  and  Susan  and  Jean  and  my  ain 
dear  Margit.  Na,  it  wadna  look  weel  on  my  tombstone  — 
Eleezabdli  Landshoroiigli,  dearly  beloved  {fifth)  wife  o' 
Weeliim  Gilroij,  bom —  Na,  na,  it  wad  tak'  up  mair  than 
twa  lines,  and  letterin's  desperate  dear.  Forbye,  there 
wadna  be  room  for  anither,  supposin'  Betty  to  be  taken 
awa !" 

"  V/hat  did  Betty  say  to  ye  ?"  said  Kit,  anxious  to  im- 
prove his  knowledge  of  the  ways  of  women. 

"  She's  an  impudent  besom.  I  carena  what  she  said  !" 
answered  the  Sheriff's  officer,  with  suggestive  curtness. 

"But  she's  bonny,"  suggested  Kit,  even  as  Frank  Chis- 
holm  had  done. 

''Beauty  is  but  skin  deep!"  said  Willie  Gilroy,  senten- 
tiously.    ''Even  a  bursar  should  ken  that  I" 

"And  Avhat  mair  do  ye  want  ?"  retorted  the  wise  Kit; 
"for  mysel'  I  care  nocht  for  a  woman  withoot  the 
skin !" 

"  Humph !"  grunted  his  companion,  "  that's  no  what  I 
wad  caa'  a  pertinent  observation." 

Yet  Willie  Gilroy  would  in  no  wise  reveal  to  his  com- 
panion whether  or  no  his  offer  had  been  well  received  by 
Betty.  All  that  he  would  say  was  no  more  than  that  there 
were  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  came  out  of  it  —  a 
proverb  which  must  have  originated  with  some  fisher 
cousin  of  the  fox  who  abused  the  sour  grapes. 

All  the  way  to  Cairnharrow  the  Sheriff's  officer  talked  of 
nothing  but  Isobel  Fairies,  the  dairy-maid  there,  and  Kirst 
Conchie  the  cook,  weighing  their  several  capacities,  with 
various  side  hits  at  Betty  Landsborough,  always  to  her  dis- 
advantage. Kit,  anxious  to  get  the  "  Orra  Man"  safely 
bestowed,  paid  little  attention  to  Willie's  soliloquies,  only 
answering  a  direct  question  after  it  had  been  asked  half  a 
dozen  times. 

They  arrived  at  last  at  Cairnharrow,  and  Kit,  who  knew 


284  KIT    KENNEDY 

the  ways  of  the  house,  made  haste  to  take  out  Mary  Gray 
aud  lead  that  steady-going  mare  to  her  stall. 

Then,  still  hidden  by  the  darkness  of  the  winter  gloam- 
ing, he  and  Willie  Gilroy  took  the  "  Orra  Man"  in  their 
arms  and  carried,  him  to  his  "laffc."  He  was  breathing 
heavily  and  regularly. 

''He  hasna  had  muekle,"  said  Willie,  the  expert.  ''It's 
juist  gaen  to  his  head,  wi'  his  keepin'  frae  it  sae  lang.  I'll 
wager  he'll  be  a'  richt  in  the  morning." 

Then  Kit  went  down  again  and  did  the  "Orra  Man's" 
work,  stabling  his  horses  and  setting  the  yard  and  office 
houses  in  order.  Finally,  almost  worn  out,  he  went  into 
the  house  of  Cairnharrow  for  the  supper  which  he  had 
earned  so  well. 

"Hollo,  Kit  Kennedy,"  cried  John  Rogerson,  the  jovial 
farmer,  "so  Willie  Gilroy  tells  me  that  ye  hae  won  the 
bursary  and  are  gaun  to  be  a  colleger.  Ye  hae  dune  weel, 
and  whan  ye  gang  to  the  big  toon  in  the  winter,  I  shall 
be  a  puirer  man  than  I  expeck  to  be  gin  I  canna  send 
ye  a  whang  o'  sweet-milk  cheese  and  maybe  a  bit  bacon 
ham  to  be  kitchen  to  your  piece." 

Kit  thanked  the  warm-hearted  farmer,  but  Cairnharrow 
cut  him  short. 

"Did  ye  see  ocht  o'  that  daft  craiter,  my  '  Orra  Man  ?'" 
he  said. 

"He  cam'  hame  wi'  me  in  the  cairt,"  said  Kit,  keeping 
carefully  to  a  portion  of  the  facts. 

"And  what  for  disna  he  come  in  for  his  supper  I"  de- 
manded his  master. 

"He  was  compleenin'  o'  a  kind  o'  sair  head,"  said  Kit, 
"and  I'm  thinkin'  he  will  be  aff  direck  to  his  bed." 

"HumpL,  '  said  the  farmer  of  Cairnharrow,  "this  is 
no  the  first  sair  head  that  has  come  hame  frae  Cairn 
Edward  on  market  Monday.  And  it's  no  like  to  be  the 
last !" 

Judiciously  Kit  said  nothing,  l)ut  retired  early  to  the 


THE    FLAG    UPON    THE    PINE  285 

*'laft,"  where  the  '' Orra  Man  "  slept  serenely.     He  had 
not  been  long  there  when  he  heard  a  foot  on  the  ladd-er. 

''Are  ye  sleepiu'.  Kit  Kennedy  ?"  said  a  voice. 

''Na,  I'm  no  sleepin'  yet/''  said  Kit,  who  had  now  for 
the  first  time  a  chance  to  think  what  the  events  of  the 
day  meant  to  him. 

Willie  Gilroy  came  in,  dragging  himself  up  by  means  of 
his  long  arms  like  a  good-natured,  black-bodied  spider. 

"It's  a'  richt,  Kit,"  he  said,  confidentially,  "it's  to  be 
Kirst  Conchie  the  cook.  I  gaed  to  see  Bell  Fairies  at  the 
byre,  and  she  had  ways  Avi'  her  that  I  couldna  stammach 
awal  What  do  you  think,  she  actually  put  the  guid  coo's 
milk  through  a  sile  (sieve)  afore  she  could  pour  it  intil 
the  bynes.  Heard  ye  ever  the  like  o'  that  ?  As  if  either 
butter  and  cheese  were  the  ony  the  waur  o'  an  odd  hair  or 
twa.  Indeed,  good  judges  even  prefer  a'  wheen  hairs.  It's 
a  sign  that  ye  are  gettin'  nane  o'  your  shop-bought  crowdies, 
but  rael  Galloway  stuff,  when  ye  find  a  black  curly  yin  or 
twa  charkin'  between  your  teeth. 

"  So  I  didna  say  a  word,  but  I  gacd  awa  ben  to  Kirst. 
The  first  thing  I  saw  was  Kirst  pitten'  on  the  parritch  in  the 
pot  that  she  had  emptied  the  pig's  meat  oo  to'  !  That's  the 
woman  for  me,  says  I.  Nae  fikey  perniketty  particularity 
aboot  Kirst !  Na,  rough  and  ready,  and  ]io  ill  to  please. 
Then  she  was  gaun  to  dish  the  maister's  porridge  to  gang 
ben.  There  cam'  a  flaucht  o'  soot  doon  the  lam.  Plap  ! 
Half  a  pound  o't  gaed  in  the  maister's  bowl.  Wliat  did 
Kirst  do,  but  gied  it  a  bit  turn  wi'  the  dishclout,  a  bit  rub 
wi'  her  elbow,  syne  turned  up  her  druggit  petticoat  and 
dichted  the  delf  dry.  Then  in  wi'  the  porridge  and  awa  to 
the  maister.  Certes  !  A  thorough-gaun  tairgin',  satisfac- 
tory kind  o'  woman  is  Kirst  ! 

"So  I  pat  aff  nae  time,  but  says  to  her,  '  Kirst,  you  and 
me's  no  sae  young  as  we  hae  been.  Gin  ye  are  no  particu- 
lar wha  ye  get  for  a  man,  I'm  no  particular  wha  I  get  for  a 
wife.     WuU  ye  hae  me  ?' 


28G  KIT    KENNEDY 

"So  she  said  she  wad,  plnmp  and  plain  as  a  woman 
should,  though  as  ye  can  pictur'  to  yoursel'  she  was  kind  o' 
owercome  at  first  wi'  me  sj^eakin'  to  her  sae  aifectingly. 
But  saf  t  talk  o'  that  kind  comes  naitural  to  me.  Ye  ken  I 
have  aye  had  a  wonderf u'  way  wi'  the  women  foAvk  a'  the 
days  o'  me." 

On  the  morning  of  the  next  day  the  "  Orra  Man  "  came 
to  himself  out  of  a  deep  sleep.  Kit  and  Willie  Gilroy  Avere 
prepared  to  assert  that  he  had  hurt  himself  by  falling  at 
the  door  of  the  Black  Bull.  But  the  "  Orra  Man"  listened 
to  their  stories  with  sad-eyed  patience. 

"It  is  kind  of  you  two,"  he  said  ;  "I  will  not  forget  it. 
But  I  know  well  what  happened.  As  soon  as  I  knew  that 
you  had  won  the  bursary  it  came  over  me  like  a  Solway  tide. 
For  your  sake.  Kit,  I  had  done  it.  But  in  a  moment  it  came 
back  upon  me  stronger  than  ever.  It  is  no  use.  Kit,  I  am  a 
doomed  man  !    I  have  saved  others,  myself  I  cannot  save." 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  Kit,  cheerfully,  "  it  wasna  the  drink. 
Ye  had  hardly  touched  onything.  I  ken,  for  I  paid  for  it 
oot  o'  the  siller  in  your  ain  pouch." 

"  The  laddie's  richt,  man,"  asserted  Willie  Gilroy,  with 
prompt  friendly  mendacity;  "ye  hadna  even  a  smell  o' 
drink  aboot  ye.  Faith,  I  had  mair  mysel',  yestreen,  and  I 
courted  twa  lasses  till  yin  o'  them  promised  to  be  my  wife. 
Ye  ken  Kirst  the  cook.  Ye'U  ken  her  'crowdie'  onyway. 
Weel,  she  has  gi'en  her  consent  to  lie  beside  Mary  and 
Susan  and  Jean  and  my  ain  belovit  Margit.  I  aye  said  the 
monument  wad  be  the  better  o'  anither  line  !" 

The  "Orra  Man"  went  about  his  work  in  silence,  and 
Kit  helped  him,  but  it  was  evident  that  he  was  revolving 
many  things  in  his  heart.  Often  he  did  not  reply  at  all 
when  he  was  spoken  to.  His  eyes  were  far  away,  and  sev- 
eral times  he  began  to  speak  abruptly  and  then  as  suddenly 
stojiped. 


THE    FLAG    UPON    THE    PINE  287 

It  was  not  till  night  that  the  ''Orra  Man''  delivered  his 
mind. 

"Kit,"  he  said,  taking  the  boy  by  the  shoulder,  ''you 
are  on  the  right  road  now.  So  far  I  have  been  a  help  to 
ye,  and  you  have  given  me  happiness  and  fellowship  such 
as  I  have  not  known  for  years.  But  the  building  is  up, 
and  it  is  time  that  the  scaffolding  should  come  down.  I 
am  no  creditable  companion  for  a  young  scholar  and  stu- 
dent. I  will  go  away  at  once  when  you  go  uji  to  Edin- 
burgh. I  am  a  derelict  upon  life's  higli  seas.  Kit ;  your 
clipper  ship  is  not  to  have  my  water-logged  liulk  sagging 
and  i^lunging  behind  her.  So  much,  at  least,  of  honor  I 
have  left  me." 

Then  Kit  answered  Avitli  a  light  in  liis  eyes.  "  You  have 
done  everything  for  me.  I  will  not  let  you  go.  We  have 
taken  the  rough  together,  now  Ave  will  take  the  smooth." 

The  "  Orra  Man"  smiled  at  Kit's  boyish  periods,  but  he 
did  not  smile  when  he  saw  the  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Kit — Kit,"  he  said,  ''you  have  done  far  more  for  me 
than  I  can  ever  do  for  you  I" 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

ENTRAXCE     I^STTO    LIFE 

Ik  due  time  Kit  Keuncdy  went  to  Edinbnrn;!].  It  was 
the  dowie  time  of  the  year.  November  was  just  begiu- 
ning.  He  said  good-bye  to  his  mother,  who  ever  since  she 
had  seen  the  white  flag  flutter  above  the  tree-tops  had  gone 
about  with  a  little  proud  look  on  her  face  wliich  Walter 
MacWalter  felt  more  than  a  strong  man's  blow. 

His  grandfather  gave  Kit  his  blessing.  Mr.  Osborne 
of  the  Kirk  on  the  Hill  bestowed  on  him  a  great  deal  of 
excellent  advice,  adding,  "But,  Kit,  my  lad,  you  will  just 
have  to  pay  your  footing  like  the  rest  of  us.  There  is  no 
royal  road  to  experience  any  more  than  there  is  to 
learning." 

Kit  met  Rob  Grier  at  the  end  of  Princes  Street.  They 
left  their  boxes  at  a  call-ofiice,  and  drifted  southward  look- 
ing for  lodgings.  The  noise  and  stir  of  the  city  took  Kit 
by  the  throat.  And  though  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
Strand  and  Fleet  Street  Edinburgh  may  be  considered  a 
quiet  city,  to  a  boy  accustomed  to  the  Black  Craig  of  Dee 
it  roared  like  Babylon. 

Suddenly  and  quite  unexpectedly  they  found  themselves 
in  front  of  the  college,  and  here  under  the  great  gates  was 
one  Clement  Sowerby,  the  Cairn  Edward  Academy  lad  who 
had  tried  unsuccessfully  for  the  bursary.  He  Avas  smoking 
a  cigarette,  the  first  that  Kit  had  ever  seen,  and  nursing 
a  very  big  and  exceedingly  nobby  stick  under  his  arm. 

Sowerby  was   the  son  of  a  comfortable   tradesman   in 


ENTRANCE    INTO    LIFE  289 

Cairn  Edward,  and  had  tried  for  the  bursary  more  (as  he 
declared)  "for  fun"  than  because  he  seriously  needed  the 
money. 

"Hey,  fellows,"  he  cried,  "have  you  got  'digs'?  Have 
you  matriculated  ?  What,  never  been  inside  the  gates  ? 
Come  along.     I'll  put  you  through." 

Kit  felt  exceedingly  lonesome  walking  beside  such  a 
mentor. 

For  though  he  had  on  his  best  Sunday  clothes,  they 
were  already  a  little  too  short  for  him  as  to  trouser  leg 
and  cuff.  Somehow  his  limbs  seemed  to  stretch  a  little 
farther  through  them  each  morning  as  he  put  them  on. 

The  lads  from  Galloway  presently  found  themselves  in 
an  elbowing  throng  of  students,  through  which  Sowerby 
pushed  his  way  with  the  easy  confidence  of  an  old-timer. 

"Here  are  your  forms!  Write  your  name  there,  and 
where  you  come  from.  Then  put  a  pound-note  on  the  top, 
and  shove  the  whole  to  that  red-headed  lunatic  Avith  the 
pen  in  his  mouth.  He'll  give  you  your  'matric' ticket ! 
That's  all  right.  Now  come  on  and  let's  find  you  'digs.' 
There  are  some  toppers  near  me." 

But  it  was  soon  evident  that  the  idea^  of  Sowerby  as 
to  "digs"  and  those  which  (from  severely  absolute  con- 
siderations) governed  Kit  and  Rob  Grier  could  not  by  any 
possibility  be  unified. 

After  interviewing  many  landladies  the  two  lads  settled 
on  a  room  high  in  a  tall  house  in  the  Pleasance,  the  front 
of  which  looked  down  a  long  unlovely  cross  street,  but  the 
back-windows  upon  the  crags  and  gray  pastures  of  Arthurs 
Seat.  Mistress  Christieson,  their  new  landlady,  was  a 
widow  whom  penury  had  made  careful  and  many  lodgers 
suspicious.  But  from  the  first  she  took  to  our  pair  of  Gal- 
loway lads.  It  was  Kit  who  did  the  talking,  and  the  terms 
as  finally  arranged  were  easy — three  shillings  a  week  each 
with  coal  and  gas,  no  extras. 

As  Kit  went  up  the  stairs  for  the  first  time  as  a  sort 

19 


290  KIT    KENNEDY 

of  householder  he  felt  for  his  latch-key  with  a  proud  con- 
sequence, and  blew  the  dust  out  of  it  as  if  he  were  blow- 
ing upon  the  trump  of  fame.  A  pretty  girl,  hearing 
beneath  her  his  rushing  feet,  stood  aside  on  one  of  the 
landings  to  let  him  pass.  She  was  pulling  a  worn  brown 
glove  on  her  small  left  hand ;  as  the  stalwart  Kit  went  by 
she  stole  a  glance  at  him. 

Now  the  Galloway  code  of  manners  demands  a  salutation 
from  wayfarer  to  wayfarer  as  each  crosses  each  in  the  tran- 
quil travel  of  life.  So  Kit  smiled  broadly  upon  the  pretty 
girl. 

"It's  a  fine  day  V  he  said,  "but  I  wadna  wunner  gin  it 
cam'  on  a  wee  saf  t !" 

A  faint  smile  flickered  on  the  girl's  face.  She  finished 
buttoning  her  glove  with  as  much  care  as  if  that  were  her 
only  object  in  life.  She  did  not  reply,  and  as  soon  as  Kit 
had  passed  she  began  to  descend. 

"That's  curious,"  said  Kit  to  himself;  "she  never  an- 
swered me  !" 

He  thought  the  matter  over  in  his  mind.  It  troubled 
him  not  a  little. 

"Maybe  the  puir  lassie's  deaf  !"  he  concluded  within 
himself. 

During  these  days  Kit  saw  a  good  deal  of  Clement 
Sowerby,  the  Cairn  Edward  lad  proving  unexpectedly 
friendly.  Eob  Grier,  however,  could  not  abide  him,  and 
wanted  to  "  thraw  the  puir  craitur's  neck."  But  Kit,  being 
a  natural  optimist,  would  hear  no  ill  of  any  human  being, 
least  of  all  of  one  so  friendly  as  Clement  Sowerby. 

So  the  dapper  hat,  the  nobby  rig-out,  and  the  curly  stick 
appeared  oftener  and  oftener  at  their  joint  lodgings. 

Kit  mentioned  the  matter  of  the  pretty  girl.  Clement 
Sowerby  laughed. 

"  Some  milliner,"  he  said  ;  "you  must  get  to  know  her — 
find  somebody  to  introduce  you." 


ENTRANCE    INTO    LIFE  2t)l 

''What's  'introduce'?"  said  Kit,  to  whom  the  word  had 
not  occurred  in  translations  of  the  classics. 

"  Oh,  your  landlady  would  do  if  she's  a  decent  sort.  I 
say,  I've  a  good  mind  to  come  and  lodge  here  myself." 

Eob  Grier  looked  up  with  a  belligerent  air,  but  sub- 
sided again  upon  bis  books  as  Sowerby  added:  "But 
really,  you  know,  I  could  not  stand  the  district;  all  very 
well  to  come  and  look  you  fellows  up,  but  it  wouldn't  do 
at  all  to  have  to  say  'IGO  Pleamnce'  loud  out  in  the  class 
when  the  Professor  asked  you  for  your  address  !" 

In  due  time  Kit  lifted  his  bursary  from  the  secretary, 
and  made  the  necessary  dispositions  as  to  fees.  He  was 
attending  three  classes,  but  at  the  first  the  work  was  less 
than  nothing  to  a  pupil  of  the  "  Orra  Man."  He  ran  off 
the  versions  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  would  do  another 
edition  quite  different  for  Eob  Grier,  when  that  hard- 
working student  would  accept  of  the  help,  which,  to  do 
him  justice,  was  not  often. 

Yet  it  would  have  been  well  for  Kit  if  he  had  been  kept 
closer  to  the  grindstone  during  these  first  months  of 
winter.  Soon  after  his  arrival  Clement  Sowerby  had  taken 
him  in  hand  and  introduced  him  to  an  outfitter,  who  made 
Kit  a  suit  of  clothes  of  a  very  diff'erent  cut  from  those 
which  had  been  the  masterpiece  of  Tailor  Byron  in  the 
village  of  Whinnyliggate  the  year  but  one  before  Kit  came 
to  Edinburgh. 

The  tailor  tried  to  persuade  the  youth  to  run  an  acconnt 
— "any  friend  of  Mr.  Sowerby's,"  he  said,  with  a  smirk. 
But  Kit's  ingrained  money  sense  kept  him  straight  where 
so  many  are  weak.  He  paid  shilling  by  shilling  on  the 
nail,  and  saw  that  he  got  the  largest  discount  too. 

But  there  is  no  denying  that  in  these  days  Kit  did  not 
fulfil  the  high  promise  of  his  start.  The  Professor,  in- 
deed, commended  him  again  and  again.  The  "  Orra  Man" 
had  taught  him  to  turn  tolerable  verses  in  the  dead  lan- 
guages, and   that   being   an   unheard-of  accomplishment 


292  KIT    KENNEDY 

among  Scottish  stndents,  Kit  leaped  to  a  first  place  in  his 
teacher's  favor  at  a  bound  when  he  achieved  a  copy  mnch 
more  than  tolerable.  The  Professor,  standing  np  like 
Jove  before  the  class,  declaimed  Kit's  lines  with  a  strong 
appreciation  of  their  Horatian  flavor.  But  that  Avas  Kit^s 
Waterloo,  for  all  unconsciously  he  had  used  the  phrases  of 
the  "  Orra  Man."  The  next  he  gave  in  were  hastily  written, 
and  the  Professor  looked  disappointed. 

He  did  not  declaim  the  lines  to  the  class  on  this  occasion, 
but  he  called  Kit  into  his  retiring-room,  and  had  five  min- 
utes' talk  with  him,  which  the  boy  remembered  all  his  life. 

Tliree  years  afterwards  he  knocked  a  man  down  in  the 
passage  between  the  college  and  the  museum  for  repeating 
a  libellous  statement  about  the  Professor. 

It  was  not  long  before  Kit  was  "  introduced "  to  the 
pretty  girl.  He  was  coming  home  one  night  along  the 
Bridges.  It  was  a  wet,  plashy  night,  tempestuously  pleas- 
ant. The  jets  of  the  gas-lamps  were  blown  this  way  and 
that.  Some  had  gone  out.  It  chanced  that  in  a  quiet  part 
of  the  street  near  the  Surgeon's  Hall  Kit  saw  two  or  three 
fellows  promenading  arm-in-arm  across  the  breadth  of  the 
pavement.  A  girl  was  walking  quietly  in  front  of  him,  but 
Kit  had  not  noticed  her  much,  for  his  hat  was  jjulled  low 
over  his  brow,  and  his  coat -collar  high  about  his  neck. 
Suddenly,  however,  he  heard  a  little  cry  above  the  whistle 
of  the  wind.  The  three  youths  had  jostled  the  girl,  and 
then  swung  round  so  as  to  enclose  her  in  the  centre  of  a 
narrow  circle. 

One  of  them  liad  his  hand  about  the  girl's  waist. 

''Let  me  go  !"  Kit  heard  her  cry. 

Now  Kit  had  no  fear,  and  had  been  too  much  exercised 
in  the  heart  of  fighting  among  the  country  lads  to  think 
twice  of  what  he  was  doing.  He  was  on  the  spot  in  a  mo- 
ment. And  his  strong  ploughman's  grasp  was  on  the 
throat  of  one,  while  another,  surprised  by  a  left-hander  on 
the  jaw,  went  staggering  into  the  gutter.     There  was  no 


ENTRANCE    INTO    LIFE  293 

fight.  The  three  bullies  contented  themselves  with  lan- 
guage of  the  foulest,  but  took  themselves  promptly  off  at 
the  sight  of  the  glowing  belt  of  a  city  policeman,  who  came 
along,  testing  bars  and  shutters  leisurely  as  he  went. 

With  his  natural  quick  imjieriousness  Kit  took  the  girl 
by  the  arm. 

"Come  along  !"  he  said,  and  hurried  her  southward. 

They  had  gone  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  when  it  struck 
Kit  that  he  had  been  hasty. 

''I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "if  I  have  been  rough." 

By  this  we  see  that  Kit  had  been  learning  many  things. 
At  the  same  time  they  had  come  to  a  better-lighted  part  of 
the  town,  and  under  the  Bray  burners  Kit  saw  that  this 
was  the  pretty  girl  he  had  passed  on  the  landing  beneath. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  answered,  a  little  breathless  with  the 
haste  at  which  Kit  had  dragged  her  along,  "  it  is  very  kind 
of  you.  I  was  kept  late  at  school  to-night,  and  I  never  was 
spoken  to  before.  My  brother  promised  to  meet  me,  but 
he  must  have  been  detained  somewhere  !" 

The  words  were  common  words,  but  to  Kit's  country  ear 
they  seemed  to  be  spoken  with  the  accent  of  the  nymphs 
and  muses  he  read  so  much  about  in  his  shabby  cream- 
colored  German  classics.  He  wanted  to  tell  her  so,  but 
did  not  quite  know  how  to  begin. 

But  he  did  nearly  as  well. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  talking  as  like  the  "  Orra 
Man"  as  he  could,  "I  always  look  out  for  you  on  the 
stairs  ?" 

"  Do  you  ?"  said  the  girl,  in  apparent  surprise.    "  Why  ?" 

"Because,"  said  Kit,  "  you  put  on  your  gloves  so  nicely." 

In  Galloway  they  did  not  put  on  gloves  in  the  pretty 
girl's  way.  Even  Betty  tugged  at  a  creased  pair  of  blacks, 
and  left  half  an  inch  unfilled  at  the  end  of  the  fing-ers. 
But  then  gloves  were  only  of  acceptation  from  the  kirk 
door  as  far  as  the  end  of  the  first  psalm. 

Tlie  pretty  girl  became  prettier  tlian  ever,  and  if  Kit 


294  KIT    KENNEDY 

had  looked  closely  lie  would  have  seen  that  his  frankness 
had  brought  a  well-defined  blush  to  her  cheek.  She  was 
inclined  to  pass  the  words  off  as  a  compliment.  But  the 
eager  freshness  in  Kit's  voice  told  her  woman's  ear,  inevi- 
table in  its  appreciation  of  sincerity,  that  he  spoke  the  truth. 

"  You  live  with  Mrs.  Christieson  above  us,"  she  an- 
swered ;  ''my  father  has  seen  you.  He  will  thank  you  for 
being  kind  to  me.  He  does  not  like  me  coming  home  by 
myself,  and  he  will  be  very  angry  with  Dick  for  not  meet- 
ing me." 

"  I  cannot  be  angry  with  Dick  !"  said  Kit. 

The  girl  evaded  this. 

"Dick  is  thoughtless  and  often  stays  out  late," she  said; 
"but  I  think  you  are  often  out,  too.  We  call  your  friend 
and  you  Box  and  Cox.     He  is  Box." 

"  Why  ?"  said  Kit,  wishing  that  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
were  a  score  of  miles  away.  They  were  turning  down  the 
street  now  which  led  to  that  dismal  stone  turnpike  where 
they  must  part  one  from  the  other. 

The  girl  laughed  a  little  thrilling  trill  of  laughter. 

"  Because,"  she  said,  "he  keeps  himself  shut  up — " 

"And  why  am  I  Cox  ?"  said  Kit,  interested. 

"Well,  because  you  are  not  Box  !" 

This  was  far  worse  than  Greek  to  Kit,  whose  education 
did  not  include  even  the  commonest  of  farces.  But  be  was 
quite  satisfied,  and  only  sighed  as  the  girl  took  down  her 
umbrella  at  the  foot  of  the  stair.  She  did  it  so  prettil}^, 
too,  with  a  little  flirt  aloug  the  pavement  to  shake  the 
drops  off  the  Fox  frame  knobs,  and  a  sudden  uplift  of  eyes 
in  which  consciousness  of  his  admiration  struggled  with  a 
desire  to  thank  him  for  his  kinduess.  But  she  saw  too 
much  on  his  face  to  risk  many  words  in  the  dusk  of  the 
stair  foot. 

"  I  hope  none  went  on  you  !"  she  said,  lamely  enough, 
referring  to  the  raindrops  which  she  had  shaken  from  her 
umbrella. 


ENTRANCE    INTO    LIFE  295 

"  Oh  no,  thank  you,"  said  Kit,  feeling  unuttei-ably  colt- 
ish and  stupid.  He  would  have  liked  to  tell  her  what  he 
thought  of  her — that  is,  in  the  ^'Orra  Man's"  iambics. 

"I  suppose  I  must  bid  you  good-bye,"  said  Kit,  slowly, 
stammering  over  his  words.  He  was  just  beginning  his 
education — if  he  had  won  a  bursary. 

''Not  unless  you  decide  to  sleep  in  the  cellar,"  said  the 
girl ;  "  we  have  three  stairs  more  to  go  up  together." 

They  went  up  one.  The  pretty  girl  paused  a  moment 
on  the  landing  and  looked  at  Kit,  who  was  following  some- 
what forlornly  behind  her. 

"You  haven't  told  me  your  name  yet,"  she  said — ''that 
I  may  tell  my  father,"  she  added,  hastily. 

"My  name  is  Kit  —  I  mean,  Christopher  Kennedy.  I 
come  from  Oalloway,"  said  Kit,  gratefully  hoping  that  she 
would  tell  him  hers. 

The  girl  clapped  her  hands. 

"Oh,  'Kit' — I  like  Kit  ever  so  much  better  than  Chris- 
topher," she  cried.  Suddenly  she  rushed  upward  and 
turned  sharp  to  the  right. 

"Oh,  father,"  she  cried,  impulsively,  "do  you  know 
what  has  happened  ?" 

Kit  caught  sight  of  a  thick-set  man  of  middle  height 
standing  at  an  open  door.  He  had  a  nose  slightly  hooked, 
prominent  bushy  eyebrows  high  in  the  middle  (like  a  cir- 
cumflex accent,  thought  Kit  to  himself),  which  gave  him 
a  look  at  once  high  and  irascible.  His  face  was  thickly 
bearded  with  a  short,  dense  beard  of  the  color  which  the 
artist  calls  warm  russet  and  the  unthinking  red. 

The  man  in  the  doorway  did  not  answer  his  daughter 
directly,  but  continued  to  gaze  at  Kit  over  her  shoulder 
with  an  air  of  stern  inquiry. 

"The  class  was  late  and  I  must  have  missed  Dick,  some- 
how," she  went  on;  "then  just  at  Nicholson  Square  it  was 
dark,  and  some  nasty  fellows  spoke  rudely  to  me — or  rather 
would  have  done,  but  for  this  gentleman  !" 


396  KIT    KENNEDY 

She  turned  to  Kit  with  an  air  of  proprietorship, 

"  This  is  Mr.  Christopher  Kennedy,"  continued  the 
pretty  girl,  blushing  so  red  that  she  looked  to  Kit's  eyes 
more  engaging  than  ever. 

The  man  did  not  speak,  but  bent  upon  Kit  a  look  so 
searching  that  the  boy  felt  as  if  he  were  entirely  transparent 
to  those  bold,  deep-set  eyes. 

"I  did  nothing  at  all,"  he  faltered.  "The  fellows  ran 
as  soon  as  they  saw  me.  Besides,  there  was  a  policeman 
coming,  any  way  !" 

Kit  was  blushing  in  his  turn. 

"  Will  yon  come  in,  sir  ?"  said  the  russet-bearded  man,  in 
no  wise  abating  the  severity  of  his  glance.  He  had  a  deep 
voice,  and  as  Kit  passed  him  he  noticed  his  enormous 
spread  of  chest — almost  disproportionate,  indeed,  to  his 
height. 

Kit  took  off  his  hat  and  passed  within.  It  was  a  simple 
kitchen  that  he  was  ushered  into.  A  stout,  matronly  wom- 
an was  bustling  about  a  range,  which  shone  in  all  its  parts 
with  winking  brass  and  the  polish  of  infinite  black  lead. 

"  Mother,"  said  the  man,  "  here  is  a  neighbor  of  ours 
who  has  brought  Mary  home." 

The  woman  turned  upon  Kit  with  a  pleasant  smile  and 
held  out  her  hand. 

"Ye  are  welcome,"  she  said.  "What  has  come  over 
that  'seefer'  Dick  that  he  dinua  meet  ye,  Mary  ?" 

The  pretty  girl  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  and  ex- 
plained. She  drew  one  glove  after  the  other  slowly  and 
daintily  off.  Kit  could  not  help  looking  at  her,  though 
the  action  was  clearly  unconscious.  He  wanted  to  tell  her 
that  it  was  even  prettier  to  watch  her  take  oif  her  gloves 
than  to  put  them  on. 

"And,  mother,"  she  cried,  for  she  had  an  impulsive 
way  with  her  wholly  unknown  to  Galloway,  "if  it  had  not 
been  for  Mr.  Kennedy,  I  do  not  know  what  I  should  have 
done." 


ENTRANCE    INTO    LIFE  297 

'Whereupon  the  tale  of  Kit's  heroism  was  again  retold 
and  again  disclaimed,  till  that  youth  of  parts  was  all  quiv- 
ering with  excitement  and  throbbing  with  vague  happi- 
ness. He  seemed  to  be  setting  his  feet  on  the  very  thresh- 
old of  the  unknown.  Ho  began  to  sympathize  all  at  once 
with  Rob  Armour  and  the  two  foresters  who  waited  about 
the  cottage  gate  to  see  Betty.  Hitherto  he  had  always 
agreed  with  Betty  that  it  was  very  good  fun. 

But  he  was  learning  the  other  side  of  it  while  he  stood 
fingering  the  brim  of  his  hat,  and  watching  the  pretty  girl 
drawing  off  her  gloves  so  daintily  that  Kit  dared  hardly 
shake  her  by  the  hand,  lest  something  so  delicate  should 
break  in  the  stiff  awkwardness  of  his  countryman's  fingers. 

"  Will  ye  no  sit  ye  doon  ?"  said  the  good  wife  of  the 
house  with  cordial  invitation.  She  was  getting  supper 
ready,  and,  though  naturally  heavy-footed,  she  wore  such 
soft  slippers  and  walked  so  springily  that  she  seemed  to 
be  in  three  places  at  once.  The  girl  took  off  her  hat  and 
went  forward  to  help  her  mother.  But  the  elder  woman 
pushed  her  from  the  fire. 

"  Gang  awa'  and  sit  doon.  Rest  ye,  lassie.  Ye  hae  been 
a'  day  among  the  bairns  in  the  schule,  and  then  at  the 
nicht-schule  as  well.  Your  mither  has  dune  naething  but 
plowter  about  the  hoose." 

"  But,  mother,"  said  the  girl,  ''I  am  not  tired." 

And  to  show  how  fresh  she  was,  the  young  girl  began  to 
take  crockery  from  a  wall-press  and  spread  it  out  upon  the 
white  cloth  which  was  already  laid.  It  was  pretty  to  watch 
her.     She  was  so  graceful,  so  innocent,  and  so  impulsive. 

■^'I  must  be  getting  up-stairs  to  my  work  !"  said  Kit,  a 
little  mournfully.  It  would  not  be  half  so  much  fun  to  sit 
and  listen  to  the  scrape  of  Rob  Grier's  pen  doing  his  Latin 
version. 

''We  are  Just  going  to  have  tea,"  said  the  taciturn  man, 
thawing  a  little  ;  "  will  you  stay  and  drink  a  cup  with  us  ?" 

Kit  sat  down,  still,  however,  keeping  his  hat  in  his  hands. 


398  KIT    KENNEDY 

The  pretty  girl  came  and  took  it  away,  smiling  at  him 
as  she  did  so. 

"  Poor  thing  !"  she  said  ;  "  don't  turn  it  round  and 
round  like  that  all  the  time.     You  will  make  it  dizzy." 

She  disclosed  a  row  of  sparklingly  white  and  even  teeth 
as  she  spoke.  And  Kit  thought  that  he  had  never  listened 
to  so  witty  a  remark.  Then,  when  the  table  was  set,  she 
went  and  looked  over  her  father's  head  at  the  visitor,  rest- 
ing her  elbows  on  the  broad  shoulder  and  dinting  her  chin 
into  his  thick  scrubby  bush  of  gray  hair. 

She  was  a  very  pretty  girl.  Her  features  were  delicate 
and  regular,  save  for  the  slightest  aspiration  on  the  part  of 
her  nose,  which  was  set  at  a  most  provocative  angle.  Her 
eyes  were  a  kind  of  blue,  yet  never  stayed  the  same  for 
two  seconds.  She  had  brownish  hair  with  golden  lights  in 
it,  and  a  dimple  played  bo-peep  at  the  right  corner  of  her 
mouth  each  time  she  laughed. 

She  was  not  tall,  but  so  slender  that  when  no  one  stood 
beside  her  she  gave  the  effect  of  being  so. 

Kit  did  not  know  what  there  was  about  this  girl,  of 
whose  very  name  he  was  still  ignorant,  that  made  him 
think  of  all  the  beautiful  things  he  had  ever  seen.  Did 
she  bend  coquettishly  down  to  her  father  so  that  the  fire- 
light was  reflected  in  her  hair,  till  the  brown  turned  into 
red  and  the  bronze  to  golden  yellow — instantly  Kit  saw  the 
Crae  Hill  sweeping  back  in  stretch  after  stretch  of  red 
heather.  It  was  morning's  prime,  and  the  sun  was  rising. 
Moor-cocks  were  croAving  in  the  hollows,  and  the  great 
gladsome  day  stood  on  tiptoe. 

Or,  she  shook  back  her  loosely  clustering  hair  from  her 
brow.  The  lights  wavered  across  it  from  fire  and  lamp, 
and  instantly  Kit  saw  the  thirty-acre  field  at  the  Dornal 
all  awave  with  ripening  corn.  The  wind  came  lightly  from 
the  west  and  drove  it  towards  him  in  glinting  swells.  That 
was  the  most  beautiful  thing  he  had  seen  till  he  had  met 
this  girl  of  the  city  under  the  November  street  lamps. 


ENTRANCE    INTO    LIFE  299 

Happily  on  this  his  first  visit  Kit  did  not  have  to  speak 
much.  The  women  talked  both  for  him  and  to  him,  while 
occasionally  the  thick-set  saturnine  man  put  in  a  word. 

Kit  found  himself  at  liberty  to  sit  and  look  where  he 
would.  And  the  stern-eyed  man  Avatched  the  direction  of 
his  eyes. 

Then  they  drew  in  to  the  plain  deal  table  on  which  a 
fair  and  fine  cloth  had  been  laid.  Kit  made  a  pretence  of 
eating,  but  he  was  not  hungry.  It  seemed  a  profanation 
to  eat  in  such  a  dainty  presence  ;  or,  if  not  exactly  profane, 
at  least  ill-judged  and  vulgar. 

But  the  pretty  girl  herself  had  no  such  qualms.  She 
was  frankly  hungry,  and  said  so.  So  that  it  was  not  long 
before  Kit  observed  with  surprise  that  those  white  and 
even  teeth  were  capable  of  being  used  for  other  purposes 
than  suddenly  aiding  and  abetting  her  eyes  to  break  into  a 
dazzling  smile,  like  the  sun  peering  through  a  tearful  April 
sky.  All  healthily  pretty  girls  must,  as  a  condition  of  their 
beauty,  eat  well,  and  this  one  freely  owned  the  necessity. 

"  I  am  a  perfect  piggie  about  supper,"  she  confessed 
with  a  frank  unconcern  ;  "1  have  it  in  my  mind  all  day  at 
school  when  I  am  drilling  the  infant  class.  I  never  think 
about  anything  else  coming  home,  and  then  when  I  do 
get  home  I  always  look  in  the  oven  the  first  thing  to  see 
Avhat  there  is." 

At  this  moment  a  tall,  loosely-built  lad,  with  short,  red 
hair,  a  Aveak  mouth,  and  a  freckled  face  came  in.  He  Avore 
a  cutaway  coat  of  smartish  fashion  and  held  a  thin  cane  in 
his  hand. 

"Why,  Dick  !"  cried  the  girl,  rising  to  give  him  an  im- 
pulsive kiss,  to  Avhich  he  submitted  rather  tlian  responded, 
''where  have  you  been  ?  I  missed  you,  and  if  it  had  not 
been  for  this  gentleman" — here  she  smiled  at  Kit,  making 
his  heart  quiver  strangely  (again  he  saw  the  Crae  hill-side 
and  the  sunshine  fleeting  across  it) — "I  don^t  know  AA'^hat  I 
should  have  done." 


300  KIT    KENNEDY 

The  stern-faced  man  continued  to  watch  the  youth,  who 
did  not  seem  to  look  at  any  one  in  particular,  and  who 
markedly  avoided  Kit's  eye. 

"I  was  out  with  Marmy,"  he  said;  "we  went  farther 
than  we  intended,  and  I  did  not  get  back  to  the  school  in 
time.  It's  all  nonsense  about  any  one  molesting  you,  Mary. 
You  are  always  so  nervous.     It  is  very  silly." 

"  Dick,"  said  his  father,  "  take  your  supper  and  go  to 
bed  !" 

The  youth  laid  down  his  cane,  put  his  hat  carefully  on  a 
peg  in  the  hall,  and  sat  down  at  the  table  without  giving 
Kit  a  glance. 

The  supper  proceeded,  but  with  something  less  of  enthu- 
siasm. 

"  You  have  not  been  long  in  the  city,  sir  ?"  said  the 
elder  man,  suddenly  unbending  and  looking  over  at  Kit 
with  a  friendliness  in  his  eyes  as  sudden  as  it  was  unex- 
pected. 

How  it  happened  Kit  did  not  know,  but  a  moment  after- 
wards he  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  a  full  account  of 
his  life.  He  began  by  telling  of  his  grandfather,  of  his 
grandmother,  something  even  of  his  mother.  He  told  of 
the  Mac  Walters  of  Loch  Spellanderie.  He  entered  into 
full  particulars  concerning  Betty  and  the  three  foresters. 

"I  think  she  was  a  very  cruel  girl  !"  interjected  the  one 
at  the  table  most  able  to  criticise  Betty's  actions  and  mo- 
tives. 

From  being  silent  Kit  grew  voluble,  from  the  extreme 
of  reticence  he  became  almost  confidential.  And  as  he 
talked  of  the  "  Orra  Man"  his  halting  tongue  grew  oratory 
and  the  color  mounted  to  his  cheek.  While  he  talked  he 
continued  to  look  at  the  pretty  girl,  Avho  blushed  with  con- 
tagious enthusiasm.  But  it  was  to  the  stern  man  that  he 
spoke  directly,  and  after  a  time  he  nodded  quietly. 

Suddenly,  while  Kit  was  speaking,  the  young  man  who 
had  been  called  Dick  pushed  back  his  chair  from  the  table, 


ENTRANCE    INTO    LIFE  301 

and,  brushing  the  crumbs  from  his  coat,  he  tramped 
noisily  out  and  began  to  ascend  the  stair. 

"Dick  !"  said  liis  father,  in  deeji,  quiet  tones. 

The  feet  tramped  on. 

"  Dick  I" 

The  feet  stopped  on  the  landing.  There  was  a  moment's 
silence  which  somehow  weighed  upon  all  as  though  heavy 
with  fate.  The  jaretty  girl's  face  lost  its  bright  expression. 
It  seemed  to  grow  anxious,  and  she  was  obviously  not  listen- 
ing to  Avhat  Kit  said. 

The  footsteps  began  slowly  to  descend.  The  head  of  the 
youth,  more  vapid  and  watery-eyed  than  before,  was  thrust 
within  the  kitchen. 

"  What  do  you  want,  father  ?"  he  said. 

The  stern  man  did  not  answer  in  words.  He  only  indi- 
cated the  chair  from  which  Dick  had  risen  with  a  slight 
nod  of  his  head. 

Dick  sat  down. 

"  And  now,  you  were  telling  ns — "  the  face  of  the 
russet-bearded  man  was  turned  to  Kit  with  the  same  un- 
expected smile  of  grave  sweetness. 

But  the  heart  had  gone  out  of  the  tale.  Kit's  glow  of 
communicativeness  had  sunk  like  a  blaze  among  whins. 

"Must  you  go?"  murmured  the  pretty  girl,  a  little 
sadly.  Kit  liked  the  way  she  said  that.  He  lay  awake 
two  hours  trying  to  recall  her  exact  manner  of  saying  it. 

"And  be  sure  ye  dinna  gang  by  the  door  withoot 
lookin'  in,"  said  the  motherly  person  at  the  foot  of  the 
table.  "We  hae  aye  supper  aboot  this  time,  and  ye  are 
welcome." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  !"  said  the  grave  man,  reach- 
ing out  a  hand. 

"  Grood-night,"  said  Kit,  to  the  young  man  in  the  cut- 
away coat. 

His  father's  eye  was  upon  him,  and  he  managed  to 
emit  a  grunt  which,   on  a  liberal   interpretation,   might 


302  KIT    KENNEDY 

have  been  construed  as  an  acknowledgment  of  Dick's  salu- 
tation. 

The  pretty  girl  went  with  Kit  to  the  door. 

"  Yon  were  very  kind/'  she  said,  "  we  are  all  very — that 
is,  we  liope  you  will  come  back." 

"  You  have  not  yet  told  uie  your  name/'  said  Kit,  hold- 
ing lier  hand  till  she  should  answer. 

"  Mary  Bisset  is  my  name  !"  she  said,  with  a  grave  sweet- 
ness very  like  her  father's. 


CHAPTER  XL 

A    KEW    ACQUAINTANCE 

Kit's  acquaintance  with  his  neighbors  underneath,  to 
whom  he  had  been  so  curiously  introduced,  continued  and 
prospered.  But  a  very  strange  element  was  introduced 
into  it  by  Mistress  Christison,  Kit's  landlady.  Kit  asked 
her  about  all  tlie  people  on  the  stairs.  Being  a  diplomat, 
he  took  each  landing  in  turn,  beginning  at  the  bottom. 
Mrs.  Christison  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  an  empty 
shovel  in  her  hand,  with  which  she  was  wont  to  deliver 
the  coals  in  homoeopathic  doses,  as  if  they  had  been  pills 
which  might  disagree  with  the  fire  if  taken  too  recklessly. 

At  last  she  arrived  at  the  place  to  which  Kit  had  been 
bringing  her. 

"  Ow  aye,  the  Bissets.  I  dinna  ken  muckle  aboot  them, 
nor  do  I  want  to.  The  woman  is  a  decent  woman,  ceevil 
and  sociable.  But  the  man — he's  yin  o'  your  infidel  lect- 
urers or  something  o'  the  kind.  He  winna  let  a  minister 
within  his  hoose.  And  no  yin  o'  them  ever  sets  fit  within 
a  kirk  door.  The  lassie  teaches  weans  in  an  infant  schule. 
Bairns  are  sair  mislippened  noo-a-days.  To  think  that  in  a 
Christian  land  they  wad  let  the  like  o'  her  to  learn  them 
their  A  B,  abs  !" 

Mrs.  Christison  divined  the  look  on  Kit's  face. 

'^  Oh,"  she  said,  ''ye'll  hae  been  meetin'  in  wi'  the  young 
man.  He's  the  best  o'  the  lot.  Not  that  I  hae  onything 
in  particular  again  the  lave  o'  them.  But  Dick  is  in  a 
guid  position,  and  wad  do  weel  if  he  had  better  fowk  at 


304  KIT    KENNEDY 

hame.  But  with  his  faither  aye  on  this  platform  and  that, 
tearin^  at  Christianity  and  the  Toon  Council,  the  laddie 
hasna  a  fair  chance.    I  wonder  he  disna  change  his  name." 

But,  in  spite  of  this  censure.  Kit  haunted  the  Bridges  at 
the  hour  when  the  evening  schools  were  coming  out.  He 
had  not  much  success.  For  Dick,  perhaps  acted  upon  by 
fear  of  his  father,  was  unusually  faithful.  "While  more  than 
once  Kit,  from  the  safe  shelter  of  the  Post-office  pillars, 
saw  Mary  Bisset  come  across  the  street  escorted  by  the 
square  shoulders  of  the  infidel  lecturer  himself. 

But  by  changing  his  hours  of  going  to  college  Kit  did 
better.  His  first  Greek  class  in  the  morning  went  in  at 
nine,  and  Mrs.  Christison's  stair-foot  lay  exactly  ten  min- 
utes' walk  from  the  college.  The  professor  of  that  class 
was  strict  on  roll-calls,  if  lax  concerning  everything  else. 
But  as  usual  he  did  not  begin  till  five  minutes  past  the 
hour,  and  he  punctuated  the  whole  with  personal  com- 
ments. Kit  had  been  accustomed  to  leave  the  door  at  five 
minutes  to  nine,  and  be  in  his  place  by  the  time  the  pro- 
fessor had  reached  the  letter  "I"  in  the  roll. 

"^^  Inglis  ?"  "Here,  sir!"  ''Ingram?"  No  answer. 
''  Where's  Ingram  ?  Lazy  boy,  Ingram.  Shall  have  three 
pages  of  Ossian  to  translate  into  Greek.  What  shall  it  be 
— that  splendid  passage  where —  What !  Ingram's  dead  ? 
Very  well,  then,  Ingram  is  excused  from  coming  to  my 
class.     Johnson — Kennedy." 

So  hitherto  Kit  had  always  been  on  time. 

But  now  the  student  left  the  house  at  half-past  eight, 
just  in  time  to  see  a  pretty  figure  issuing  forth  from  that 
gloomy,  doorless,  never-closed  portal  which  yawned  upon 
the  street.  Sometimes  he  would  see  Miss  Mary  Bisset 
stand  a  moment  on  the  step,  doubtful  whether  she  should 
put  up  her  umbrella,  or  daintily  gathering  her  skirts  with 
a  little  frown  on  her  brow  at  the  rain,  reluctant  as  a  kit- 
ten to  cross  the  muddy  road. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Bisset." 


A    NEW    ACQUAINTANCE  305 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Kennedy." 

It  was  not  "Kit"  any  more.  Constraint  had  somehow 
fallen  between  them.  Kit  pnt  it  down  to  the  influence  of 
"that  beast  Dick."  Dick  evidently  did  not  like  him,  and 
scowled  when  they  met.  He  always  had  a  low -browed, 
smartly -dressed  man  with  him  now,  who  wore  a  tall  hat 
and  a  heavy  gold  Albert — with  other  clothing  to  match. 

But  all  the  same  Kit  generally  escorted  Mary  Bisset  to 
school,  and  the  young  people  thawed  by  the  way.  By  the 
time  they  had  reached  the  grim,  square-windowed  half 
factory,  half  church  where  she  taught,  they  were  again 
"Kit"  and  "Mary."  And  the  young  man  felt  that,  if 
only  he  could  take  things  up  where  he  left  them  the  day 
before,  his  friendship  might  prosper.  For  at  this  stage 
they  speak  of  it,  and  think  of  it,  as  "friendship." 

Twice  a  week  there  was  no  night-school,  and  Mary  Bis- 
set  came  home  through  the  blue-gray  early  dusk  just  as 
the  swift  municipal  Lucifers  were  lighting  the  lamps,  and 
the  long  curves  of  the  Bridges  fairly  undulated  with  the 
crawling,  fiery  serpents.  There  was  a  pleasant  frosty  hum 
in  the  air.  Kit  and  she  walked  more  slowly,  and  they 
spoke  of  books  which  she  had  read  and  he  had  not. 

A  fire  was  kindled  in  his  breast. 

"I  will  begin  to-morrow.  I  will  get  the  book  out  of  the 
library.-"  It  was  Gibbon's  "Decline  and  Fall"  of  which 
they  spoke. 

"  My  father  will  lend  it  to  you,"  she  answered.  "  Come 
in  for  it  to-night  !" 

And  the  student  promised.  At  the  same  moment  Kit, 
glancing  up,  met  an  eye,  and  with  the  courtesy  he  had 
learned  since  he  came  to  the  city  he  lifted  his  hat. 

"  Who  is  that  ?"  said  Mary  Bisset,  looking  also.  "  I  did 
not  know  you  knew  any  one  in  the  city." 

"  It  was — only  a  fellow  from  the  town  near  my  place," 
said  Kit,  evasively. 

"He   stared  very  hard,"  said  the  girl.     "Perhaps  he 

20 


306  KIT    KENNEDY 

tliinks  yon  should  be  at  yonr  work  instead  of  walking 
liome  with  me  when  there  is  no  need/' 

"  It  does  not  matter  what  he  or  any  one  else  thinks  V 
said  Kit,  loftily. 

But  the  next  morning  Clement  Sowerby  ran  all  the  way 
across  the  quadrangle  to  greet  him,  deserting  a  group  of 
laughing,  easy-mannered  companions  to  speak  to  Kit. 

"  Hello,  Kennedy,  you're  getting  a  gay  dog  for  a  raw 
hand  !  Where  did  you  pick  up  that  deucedly  pretty  girl 
I  saw  you  with  last  night  ?  I  want  you  to  introduce  me, 
that's  a  good  fellow." 

"  I  do  not  know  the  young  lady  well  enough  for  that, 
I  am  afraid,"  said  Kit,  shyly,  wishing  Sowerby  at  Jericho. 
"  I  should  consider  it  a  liberty." 

"She  wouldn't,  I  bet,"  cried  Sowerby,  cheerily;  ''why, 
man,  don't  be  afraid—I  won't  cut  you  out.  I've  got  a  girl 
of  my  own.  But  you  were  such  an  old  sobersides  that  I 
did  not  tell  you  before." 

That  night,  as  Kit  sat  alone  in  the  room  which  he  shared 
with  Eob  Grier,  he  was  surprised  by  the  entrance  of  a  vis- 
itor. The  man  from  Garlies  was  out,  engaged  in  the  sort  of 
penal  servitude  known  as  "  coaching  "  at  a  guinea  a  month. 

This  consists  in  doing  the  lessons  of  High  School  and 
Academy  boys  for  them,  and  if  unremunerative  is  not  ex- 
hausting, except  to  boot  leather  upon  the  hard  sets  of  the 
Edinburgh  streets. 

*^Mr.  Kichard  Bisset !"  announced  Mrs.  Christison,  with 
a  certain  consciousness  that  her  plain  sitting-room,  with 
the  box-bed  shiit  off  by  a  panelled  door  and  the  dismal 
photographs  of  tombstones  all  round  the  walls,  was  some- 
how honored  by  such  a  visitor. 

Kit  rose  in  surprise,  erect  and  stiff  as  a  pillar.  The 
freckled  youth  had  a  tendency  to  wriggle  upon  his  first  ap- 
pearance.   But  otherwise  he  made  himself  perfectly  at  home. 

*^Ah,"  he  said,  ''you  are  surprised  to  see  me.    I  thought 


A    NEW    ACQUAINTANCE  307 

I'd  look  yon  up.  I  was  rather  off  it  the  other  night — sort 
of  chippy  and  hot  about  the  gills,  you  know." 

Kit  did  not  know,  but  he  smiled  encouragingly  as  he 
offered  liis  visitor  the  only  arm-chair  in  the  place.  Dick 
Bisset  reached  forward  and  took  the  poker.  He  stirred 
up  the  fire  which  Kit,  knowing  that  he  had  received  all  the 
coal  which  his  landlady  could  in  justice  to  herself  afford 
for  twice  three  shillings  a  week,  had  been  carefully  nurs- 
ing against  the  return  of  Eob  Grier. 

''The  fact  is,"  said  his  visitor,  ''we  don't  know  one  an- 
other well  enough  to  be  living  in  the  same  house.  I  am 
obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness  to  my  sister.  She  is  a 
good  girl,  Mary,  but  I  own  it  is  no  end  of  a  swot  having  to 
meet  her.  A  fellow  has  so  many  things  to  do.  Not  but 
what  there  are  lots  of  fellows  who  would  take  that  job  off 
my  hands — eh,  what  ?" 

He  tried  to  look  knowingly  at  Kit,  but  that  resolute 
youth  would  not  see,  and,  as  it  were,  warded  off  the  glance 
with  his  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  said  Dick  Bisset,  with  a  hurt  expression, 
"I'm  as  particular  as  any  one,  and  I  tell  you  frankly  I 
didn't  cotton  to  you  at  first.  No  more  did  my  friend,  Mr. 
Marmaduke  Styles.  Marmy  is  a  partner  in  the  big  tailor's 
emporium  at  the  corner  of  the  Bridges.  You  know  the 
place,  '  Try  Styles's  styles  one  guinea  the  suit  and  an  extra 
pair  of  trousers  thrown  in.'  I  don't  wear  them  myself,  but 
it's  a  deuced  paying  line  1" 

Kit  had  not  a  reply  ready  to  this. 

But  the  freckled  -  faced  young  man  went  on  wholly  un- 
abashed. "  But  I've  come  to  my  senses.  And  I'm  a  chap 
that  is  not  too  proud  to  come  and  say  so.  I  don't  mind 
owning  when  I'm  wrong.  I  heard  to-day  that  you  were  a 
bursar  and  a  swell  at  college.  Well,  I  don't  go  to  college. 
I'm  in  an  office,  but  clerking  is  not  my  biz,  though  dad 
thinks  it  is.  Ever  bet  ?  No  !  Well,  it's  the  best  thing 
out.     You  can  make  a  pot  of  money  in  no  time  !" 


308  KIT    KENNEDY 

Kit  smiled,  and  said  that  lie  had  no  money  to  bet 
Avith. 

''Oh,  there's  no  risk,"  said  Mr.  Richard  Bisset,  airily. 
''If  yon  were  in  the  know,  and  had  Marmy  Styles  at  your 
back  to  pnt  you  on  to  real  good  things,  you  wouldn't  be 
lodging  in  a  dog-hole  like  this." 

"  It  looks  very  nice  to  me,"  said  Kit ;  "  I  have  been  used 
to  a  stable-loft." 

"  Don't  know  what  that  is,"  said  Dick,  still  more  flip- 
pantly. "  Beastly  place,  anyway.  But  seriously,  you 
should  stand  in  with  Marmy's  crowd.  There's  only  half  a 
dozen  of  us,  and  we  can  make  no  end  of  money  !" 

"I  have  to  do  my  work,  and  it  will  take  me  all  my  time 
to  get  through  the  session  without  running  into  debt," 
quoth  honest  Kit. 

"Well,  anyway,  whether  you  do  or  not,"  answered  the 
tempter,  "you  might  come  along  with  us  to-morrow  night; 
eight  or  ten  fellows  are  going  to  have  supper  early  and  go 
to  the  theatre.     Will  you  come  ?" 

Kit  had  never  been  to  a  theatre  in  his  life,  and  was  about 
to  decline,  when  Dick  struck  in,  "I  daresay  my  sister  will 
be  going.  She'll  come  if  I  ask  her,  I  know.  There  will  be 
another  girl  or  two  there." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Kit,  definitely  temj)ted  this  time, 
but  still  uncertain  as  to  his  duty. 

Dick  Bisset  reached  out  a  hand  and  shook  Kit's  heartily. 

"  That's  right,"  he  cried,  "  we'll  make  a  man  of  yon  yet." 

Kit's  visitor  did  not  sit  down  again.  He  mooned  about 
the  room  as  if  he  were  looking  for  something  but  could  not 
remember  what.  He  examined  the  tombstones  on  the 
walls,  and  then  the  books  on  the  table  with  a  running 
undercurrent  of  comment,  half-muttered,  half-spoken. 

"Poor  place — poor  place — tombs  and  epitaphs.  'Under 
the  weeping-willow  tree.'  That  sort  of  thing.  Books  ! 
What  skittles.!  A  +  B  —  C.  What  blooming  rot  !  Dick 
Bisset,  I'm  jolly  glad  that  you  are  not  a  mug,  and  know 


A    NEW    ACQUAINTANCE  309 

better  than  that,  if  you  do  have  to  stick  on  to  an  office-stool 
from  ten  to  four." 

Then  he  said  half  a  dozen  times,  "Well,  I  must  be 
going  !"  _ 

But  still  he  did  not  go,  something  else  taking  his  wander- 
ing attention. 

'^  Well,  I'll  meet  you  at  the  foot  of  the  stair  at  half-past 
six — no,  I'll  come  up  for  you  here.  And  I  say,  old  fellow, 
Fm  short  this  week ;  could  you  lend  me  a  sov.  for  a  day  or 
two — till  I  get  my  pay  on  Saturday  ?" 

Kit  wavered  a  moment,  but  the  thought  of  Mary  Bisset 
decided  him.  His  heart  sank,  however,  for  he  was  un- 
certain about  the  value  of  Dick's  promise  and  how  he 
would  manage  without  the  money  before  the  end  of  the 
session. 

Nevertheless,  he  went  to  his  little  desk,  and,  unlocking 
it,  he  took  out  the  roll  of  crisp  notes  he  had  received  from 
the  Secretar}^  of  the  United  Societies.  He  separated  one 
and  handed  it  to  Dick  Bisset  without  a  word.  Dick  looked 
longingly  at  the  roll  in  Kit's  hand.  He  seemed  on  the 
point  of  speaking,  but,  apparently  thinking  better  of  it, 
he  thrust  the  note  carelessly  into  his  pocket. 

"^Well,  a  thousand  thanks,  old  fellow,  he  said;  "you 
are  a  brick.  You  shall  have  it  again  on  Saturday  sure  as 
fate,  and  a  dozen  of  the  same  if  you  need  'em.  Ta-ta ! 
Be  ready  with  your  best  bib  and  tucker  at  6.30  prompt  to- 
morrow night." 

At  the  door  E-obert  Grier  met  him,  coming  tramping 
past  in  his  rough  way. 

"It's  a  plaguit  cauld  night!"  he  cried,  slapping  his 
hands  together  and  getting  as  near  the  fire  as  he  dared. 

Dick  eyed  him  with  disfavor. 

"  Who's  that  beast  ?"  he  whispered  to  Kit  after  Rob  had 
gone  in. 

It  is  somewhat  curious  that,  when  Kit  came  back  to  the 
little  sitting-room,  he  found  Rob  Grier  glowering  at  him 


310  KIT    KENNEDY 

with  his  back  to  the  fire  and  his  coat-tails  under  his  arms, 
ready  to  put  a  very  similar  question. 

"  What  was  that  beast  doin'  in  here  ?"  he  asked. 

And  Kit,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  evaded  Kob's 
honest  eye.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  mention  either 
the  supper  of  the  succeeding  evening  or  the  loan  of  the 
pound  note. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

A    KIND    BROTHER 

Excitement,  fear,  and  exultation  walked  patteringly  to 
and  fro  all  day  in  the  heart  of  Kit  Kennedy.  He  was  called 
up  in  class,  and,  answering  at  random,  he  brought  down 
on  him  the  wrath  of  Professor  Jupiter  Apollo,  who,  stand- 
ing by  the  hacked  rails  of  the  rostrum,  hurled  at  him  one 
decimating  sentence,  which  rang  long  in  Kit's  ear  :  "  Sir, 
the  only  creature  on  earth  truly  despicable  is  the  man  who 
can  work  and  will  not  work." 

Years  afterwards,  when  Kit  was  ill  with  brain  fever, 
he  used  to  turn  this  into  Latin  in  twenty-four  different 
ways. 

A  month  before  Kit  would  have  choked  with  shame  to 
have  had  such  words  spoken  to  him.  Now  they  seemed 
lighter  than  vanity  to  him.  But  Rob  Grier,  who  was  called 
up  after  him  and  who  acquitted  himself  with  the  wooden 
perfection  of  the  conscientious  lexicon-rustler,  shook  his 
head  sadly. 

"Kennedy,"  he  said  to  Kit,  afterwards,  "ye  are  cleverer 
nor  me,  but  if  ye  dinna  watch  oot,  faith,  I'll  beat  you 
yet!" 

But  the  anticipation  did  not  appear  to  afford  the  black- 
smith-student much  satisfaction. 

"Ye'll  bide  in  the  nicht  and  we'll  work  her  thegither, 
when  I  get  in  frae  my  teaching,"  he  said,  almost  implor- 
ingly, to  his  companion. 

"  Not  I,"  said  Kit ;  "  I  am  going  out  to  see  some  fellows." 


312  KIT    KENNEDY 

So  all  day  he  walked  to  and  fro  outside  the  garden  of 
Eden,  and  saw  the  tree  of  the  Knowledge  of  Good  and 
Evil  glimmering  ripe-laden  through  the  pales. 

Kather  before  his  hour  Dick  Bisset  came  np  the  stair. 
He  rang  the  little  bell  which  tinkled  just  on  the  other  side 
of  Mrs.  Christison's  hall  door,  and  with  a  condescending 
nod  strolled  past  that  lady  as  soon  as  she  had  opened  it, 
leaving  a  trail  of  cheap  cigarette  smoke  like  incense  be- 
hind him. 

"Well,"  he  cried,  heartily,  ''still  at  it  ?  By  Jove  !  how 
yon  fellows  do  grind.  You'll  be  the  better  of  a  let-up. 
Shut  these  books  and  come  on.  We  have  to  go  round  by 
Mary's  school.  I'm  going  to  'ask  her  out.'  I  bet  I  know 
how  to  yarn  her  Johnny  of  a  chief  !" 

Kit  explained  that  the  open  books  on  the  table  belonged 
to  Eob  Grier,  his  room-mate,  and  putting  on  his  hat  the 
pair  went  down  into  the  pale  blue  misty  twilight  of  the 
Edinburgh  streets.  A  frosty  wind  had  whipped  them  dry, 
and  now  drove  a  stray  flake  or  two  of  snow  horizontally 
along  the  roadways  which  opened  out  north  and  south. 
Kit  had  never  in  his  life  been  conscious  of  so  keen  an  ela- 
tion of  the  blood  as  on  this  humming  lamplit  evening  of 
early  winter.  A  tingling  appreciation  of  life  bubbled 
headily  in  his  brain.  He  saw  everything  with  a  curious 
clearness,  and  seemed  to  divine  by  instinct  whither  each 
passenger  was  going  and  what  drew  him  thither. 

Kit  did  not  know  that  this  power  of  heightening  his  own 
sensations  by  contrast  with  those  of  others  was  due  to  a 
certain  essential  corpuscle  of  his  blood  inherited  from  his 
father.  It  was  this  which  had  ended  in  taking  Christopher 
Kennedy,  B.A.,  away  from  Lilias  Armour  early  that  au- 
tumn morning  nearly  twenty  years  ago  in  the  company  of 
Nick  French. 

Kit  only  knew  that  merely  to  walk  by  the  side  of  Dick 
Bisset  in  the  crisp  frosty  bite  of  the  winter  twilight, 
through  the  exciting  pour  of  well-dressed  people,  made 


A    KIND    BROTHER  313 

the  Cottage  by  the  Crae  seem  a  thousand  miles  away.  It 
came  upon  him  suddenly  and  not  at  all  remorsefully  that 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  that  morning  forgotten 
to  say  his  prayers.  As  the  two  youths  swung  out  of  the 
defile  of  high  houses  on  the  Bridges  they  emerged  upon 
that  astonishing  panorama,  which,  seen  at  the  hour  of 
gloaming,  never  fails  to  excite  a  thrill  in  the  most  hard- 
ened and  most  unemotional — in  the  lawyer  escaping  from 
the  grinding  monotony  of  Parliament  House,  and  the  en- 
gine-driver coming  up  from  a  twelve  hours'  spell  upon  the 
foot-plate. 

The  Waverley  station  was  now  no  more  a  prosaic  railway 
terminus.  Common  details  were  sunk  in  a  pale,  luminous, 
silver  mist,  through  which  burned  a  thousand  lights,  warm, 
yellow,  and  kindly.  The  blue  deepened  beneath  the  Castle 
rock.  There  it  was  indigo,  with  a  touch  of  royal  scarlet 
where  the  embers  of  the  sunset  lay  broadly  dashed  in 
against  the  west.  Princes  Street,  that  noblest  of  earthly 
promenades,  whose  glory  it  is  to  be  no  mere  street,  lay 
along  the  edge  of  a  blue  and  misty  sea,  bejewelled  with 
scattered  lights,  festooned  with  fairy  points  of  fire,  con- 
verging, undulating,  and  receding  till  they  ran  red  as  blood 
into  the  eye  of  the  sunset. 

Above  all  towered  the  ancient  strength  of  the  Castle, 
battlemented  from  verge  to  verge,  light  as  a  cloud,  insur- 
gent as  a  wave,  massive  as  its  own  foundations,  etched  bold 
and  bhick  against  the  spreading  splendors  of  the  west. 

'•  Oh,  look  !"  cried  Kit,  laying  his  hand  impulsively  on 
the  arm  of  his  companion,  '^'I  did  not  know  God  had  cre- 
ated anything  half  so  beautiful !" 

Dick  Bisset  laughed. 

"That's  all  very  well,"  he  answered,  ''but  I'll  lay  you  a 
crown  to  a  tanner  we'll  better  it  for  beauty  before  the  night 
is  out." 

Ashamed  to  admit  how  much  the  scene  had  moved  him. 
Kit  was  about  to  make  a  laughing  reply,  when  he  saw 


314  KIT    KENNEDY 


something  burn  a  moment  on  the  highest  tower  of  the  Cas- 
tle. The  sun  had  touched  the  flag  in  its  final  downward 
plunge.  Like  a  flake  of  gold  it  floated  a  moment,  and  then 
vanished  as  a  tongue  of  flame  is  blown  upward  from  a  con- 
flagration. 

And  Kit  Kennedy  remembered  that  he  had  never  taken 
down  the  white  handkerchief  from  the  top  of  the  pine-tree 
above  the  stepping-stones.  His  mother  would  be  looking 
at  it  that  very  moment  from  the  dull  windows  of  Kirkos- 
wald. 

After  this  he  was  silent  all  the  way  to  the  factory-like 
school  in  which  Mary  Bisset  taught.  He  scarcely  listened 
to  her  brother's  declaration  of  his  plan  of  campaign. 

"'1  know  the  Johnny  who  runs  this  show,"  he  confided  ; 
"  he's  rather  gone  on  our  Mary,  I  think.  Used  to  come 
up  to  see  father  (of  course  it  was  father)  when  he  was  a 
student.  Mary  was  only  a  kitten  then.  After,  when  he 
went  up  a  bit,  he  got  her  this  place.  He's  a  decent  sort, 
but  soft  as  they  make  'em.  Lord,  it's  like  taking  in  a 
baby  to  yarn  him.  I'm  going  to  tell  him  Mary  can't  wait 
to-night  because  she  has  to  recite  to  the  sick  kids  in  the 
hosjoital  over  at  the  end  of  Laurieston.  Fact !  He'll  be- 
lieve it,  too,  right  as  the  mail.  It'll  go,  I  tell  you  !  The 
only  thing  is  to  keep  Mary  from  giving  away  the  snap  to- 
morrow morning.  That  needs  more  savvy.  But  I  bet  I 
can  work  it." 

Kit  was  left  without  in  the  deepening  dusk.  The  lamps 
no  longer  seemed  to  exist  by  sufferance  of  the  tidal  glow 
of  the  sunset.  Now  they  burned  with  their  own  proper 
lustre  against  the  dusky  bosom  of  the  mother  night.  The 
mill  stream  of  homeward  -  bound  folk  ran  more  strongly 
away  from  the  city.  Even  Leith  Walk  itself  had  grown 
picturesque  in  this  light  It  was  no  more  a  mere  lane  of 
communication  between  the  mistress  sitting  aloft  in  a  well- 
aired  drawing-room  and  the  handmaid  down  in  the  scul- 
lery.    Its  converging  lines  of  lights  ran  to  a  point  which 


A    KIND    BROTHER  315 

seemed  to  terminate  in  the  midst  of  a  deep  blue  plain. 
That  was  the  northern  sea,  off  which  the  stray  snowflakes 
had  been  arriving  one  by  one  all  the  afternoon. 

Kit  stood  waiting  in  the  dnsk,  his  heart  beating  with  a 
certain  pride  in  living.  His  lips  tasted  life,  his  eyes  were 
englamonred  with  vividest  expectation.  Pretty  girls  passed 
him  on  their  way  to  the  theatre,  which  meant  work  to 
them.  Quietly,  sedately,  they  went  by.  Kit  thought 
they  were  girls  who  had  been  at  the  University  Classes  at 
St.  Margaret's  College. 

Others  passed  arm-in-arm  laughing  and  humming  gay 
airs.  Kit  looked  longer  at  these.  He  thought  they  were 
actresses.     They  were  students  of  St.  Margaret's. 

'^  This  is  nice,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  said  a  voice  in  his  ear; 
"  it  was  delightful  of  Dick  to  get  me  off.  And  Mr.  Cath- 
cart  was  so  kind.  He  always  lets  me  go  when  Dick  asks. 
But  he  generally  puts  such  curious  questions  in  the  morn- 
ing.    I  don't  know  what  Dick  can  say  to  him." 

There  was  Mary  Bisset,  prettier  than  ever.  Kit  won- 
dered that  even  for  a  moment  he  had  considered  the  girls 
who  had  passed  to  be  nice-looking.  Such  a  light  of  re- 
lease was  in  her  face,  such  a  sauciness  of  half-defiant 
friendliness  on  her  lips,  that  Kit  could  only  stammer  and 
mutter  commonplaces. 

"  Well,  Dick,  where  are  you  going  ?"  his  sister  cried, 
putting  her  arm  through  that  of  the  freckled  youth. 

"  First  to  supper  and  then  to  an  entertainment,  sis  ! 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ?"  he  answered,  carelessly. 

Mary  clapped  her  hands.  This  time  they  were  very 
neatly  gloved  when  she  appeared. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  tired,"  she  cried,  "so  tired  of  children. 
I  don't  think  I  ever  want  to  see  one  again.  Inky,  frac- 
tious little  brats  !  And  they  were  so  extra  fretful  to-day. 
I  wish  I  had  to  teach  the  infant  class.  They  are  sticky 
but  dear.  Where  are  you  going  to  take  us,  Dick  ?  How 
nice  it  will  be,  just  you  and  Mr.  Kennedy.     I  am  so  glad 


316  KIT    KENNEDY 

you  have  made  friends.     I  am  snre  Mr.  Kennedy  works  too 
hard.     It  will  do  him  good  to  get  out  awhile." 

''That  is  not  the  opinion  of  my  professor,"  said  Kit, 
honestly.     "  He  thinks  I  do  not  work  at  all." 

"Oh  yes,  I  know,"'  said  Mary  Bisset,  looking  up  at  him 
with  eyes  that  seemed  to  turn  his  vital  parts  to  lukewarm 
water  within  him,  "they  used  to  say  the  same  when  I  was 
a  student  —  at  Argyle  House,  you  know.  They  never 
thought  we  did  enough,  however  hard  we  worked  for 
their  old  Quarterlies  !  And  I  was  not  very  clever,  you 
know." 

"There  are  one  or  two  others  coming  to -night,"  said 
Dick,  "girls,  too,  so  you  won't  be  lonely — " 

"  How  nice— girls  whom  I  know  ?"  asked  Mary,  a  little 
more  soberly. 

"Well,  no,  I  don't  think  so,"  replied  Dick,  "but  yon 
soon  will.     They  are  girls  who  are  easy  to  get  on  with." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember,"  said  Mary,  with  a  relieved  ex- 
pression in  her  voice;  "they  are  the  girls  who  had  stalls 
at  that  Charity  Bazaar  you  went  to  so  much  last  month. 
You  told  me  about  them.     Didn't  I  guess  right  ?" 

Dick  Bisset  was  palpably  uneasy. 

"I  say,"  he  cried,  suddenly,  pulling  out  his  watch,  "I 
did  not  know  it  was  that  time.  I  must  go  and  fetch  the 
others.  I  say,  Kennedy,  do  you  mind  taking  my  sister  a 
little  walk  and  bringing  her  to  Sponton's  (you  know  Spon- 
ton's — well,  ask  then)  about  half-past  six — that  is,  in  half 
an  hour  ?  But  be  sure  not  to  be  late,  for  we  have  to  go  to 
the  entertainment  afterwards." 

"Oh,  Dick,  don't  be  gone  long,"  said  Mary,  definitely 
distressed.  "Mr.  Kennedy  will  not  know  what  to  do  with 
me  ages  before  that  time.  And  suppose  yon  were  not  there 
when  we  came,  it  would  be  dreadful.  What  should  we 
do?" 

*'  Why,  wait ;  that's  all  you  would  have  to  do.  But  I'll 
be  there  right  enough,  so  don't  worry,  Mary  !" 


A    KIND    BROTHER  317 

Dick  vanished  up  the  steep  little  hill  which  led  to  St. 
James'  Square,  while  Kit  aud  Mary  walked  leisurely  down 
the  garden  verge  of  Princes  Street.  They  were  silent  for 
a  while,  moving  side  by  side  with  a  curiously  pleasant  sense 
of  proximity. 


CHAPTER  XLII 


spontok's 


The  snnset  had  burned  itself  out.  The  Castle  was  now 
only  a  denser  mass  of  blackness  against  the  dark  gray  sky. 
A  light  haze  of  snow-cloud  obscured  the  lesser  stars.  The 
city  seemed  roofed  in  for  the  night,  but  the  brilliance  of 
the  stretching  miles  of  lights  was  not  dimmed. 

"This  is  better  than  the  school-room,"  said  Mary,  sud- 
denly, with  a  little  effort  and  a  long  indrawing  of  her 
breath.  "Do  you  know  I  have  never  been  here  before 
after  dark  ?    Dick  is  always  so  busy." 

"  I — I  am  glad  you  see  it  first  with  me,"  said  Kit,  fight- 
ing with  the  difficulties  of  speech.  Had  it  been  Betty  he 
would  have  talked  easily  enough,  but  this  dainty  marvel  of 
the  city  froze  him  into  silence.  Yet  the  girl's  happiness  at 
her  unexpected  deliverance  was  childlike  and  unrestrained. 

"  It  is  so  lovely  to  have  a  whole  evening  to  myself,  and 
so  kind  of  Dick.  I  wonder  what  made  him  think  of  it. 
He  has  been  a  great  deal  at  a  charity  bazaar — to  buy  a  field 
for  his  athletic  association  or  football  club — or  something. 
It  has  taken  a  lot  of  time  and  trouble.  I  wish  I  could 
have  helped  and  had  pretty  dresses  to  go  selling  things  in," 

Mary  Bisset  sighed  and  looked  down  at  the  plain  black 
dress  and  trim  quakerish  mantle  which  outlined  her  slen- 
der figure  so  clearly  against  the  reflected  lights  of  the  pave- 
ment. 

Kit  cleared  his  throat  to  speak.  It  had  suddenly  become 
dry,  and  when  his  voice  did  arrive  it  came  in  volcanic  bursts 


SPONTON'S  319 

unci  had  a  strange  hard  quality.  The  girl  looked  up  ex- 
pectantly. 

''You  were  going  to  say — ?"  she  suggested. 

Kit  tried  again,  still  it  would  not  come.  But  just  when 
he  had  almost  given  up  hope  of  ever  being  able  to  utter 
another  articulate  word  his  voice  came  back  with  a  sudden- 
ness which  made  him  start. 

"  Will  you  take  my  arm.  Miss  Bisset  ?" 

Kit  actually  looked  round  to  see  who  had  spoken.  It 
was  certainly  not  his  own  voice  he  heard. 

The  pretty  girl  gave  a  little  skip. 

"Of  course  I  will.  How  strange  it  seems  to  be  called 
*Miss  Bisset'  out  of  school.  I  shall  expect  you  to  snap 
your  fingers  like  this  and  say,  '  Please,  Miss  Bisset,  will 
you  wipe  ray  slate  for  me  ?'  " 

"May  I  call  you  'Mary'?"  Kit  ventured,  beginning  to 
be  astonished  at  himself.  Her  little  gloved  hand  was  on 
his  arm  by  this  time.  It  seemed  to  nestle  there.  It  looked 
exceeding  small  and  smooth,  while  the  glove  itself  fitted 
without  a  crease.  This  was  not  at  aU  like  Avalking  in  the 
woods  with  Betty.     The  lad  drew  a  long  breath. 

"You  are  getting  tired,"  said  the  girl,  evading  the  bold- 
ness of  Kit's  question  ;  "let  us  go  back  !" 

"Oh  no,  not  yet — Mary,"  said  Kit,  who,  having  now 
overcome  the  resistance  of  his  voice,  resolutely  pursued  his 
advantage  with  all  the  adventurousness  of  the  truly  bashful. 

But  there  is  little  use  in  chronicling  over  again  these 
eternal  and  unvarying  tentatives  of  young  and  innocent 
hearts — how  he  teased  her  to  call  him  by  his  first  name; 
how  he  used  hers  in  every  sentence  for  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  it  spoken  unreproved  ;  how  she,  shying  from  the 
adventurous  recklessness  of  "Kit,"  presently  condescended 
upon  the  half-way  house  of  "Mr.  Kit,"  with  which  the 
hero  had  in  the  meantime  to  be  satisfied ;  how,  having 
uttered  it  once,  the  pretty  girl  blushed  and  would  have 
drawn  back. 


320  KIT    KENNEDY 

"  I  did  not  say  it/'  she  said,  and  then  with  wayward  irrel- 
evance she  went  on,  "  Well,  you  made  me  say  it,  yon 
know  you  did.  I  will  take  away  my  hand  and  go  home  by 
myself  if  you  say  I  said  it." 

It  was  all  very  charming  and  delightful  to  these  simple 
nnstaled  souls.  But  such  moments  speed  fast,  and  Mr. 
Dick  Bisset  was  waiting  at  Sponton's.  Kit's  heart  was 
rippling  like  a  river  over  pebbles  in  a  water-break,  so 
quick  and  continuous  was  its  beating.  His  eyes  were 
feverishly  brilliant,  his  brown  face  a  little  pale  under  its 
weathering,  and  he  walked  not  on  Caithness  flags  chilled 
by  the  north  wind,  but  rather  upon  rolling  clouds  and  the 
viewless  air. 

Suddenly,  after  Kit  had  reached  his  right  hand  over, 
and  rested  it  on  the  smooth  brown  glove  long  enough  to 
feel  the  warmth  strike  upward  into  his  bare,  frost-bitten 
fingers,  the  pretty  girl  started,  and  light  as  a  falling  snow- 
flake  her  glove  ceased  from  his  rough  tweed  sleeve. 

She  clasped  her  hands  tragically  as  she  did  when  she  re- 
cited at  the  children's  hospital. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  we  do  ?  It  is  seven  o'clock  already ! 
Dick  will  be  so  angry.  There,  it  is  striking  from  St. 
Giles.  Listen !  How  could  we  have  been  so  careless, 
Kitr 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ventured  it,  and  the  mono- 
syllable fell  with  a  sharp  sting  of  exceeding  pleasurable- 
ness  upon  the  lad's  ear  and  vibrated  long  in  his  heart. 

She  did  not  put  her  hand  back  again  on  his  arm,  but  he 
did  not  care. 

"Kit — Kit!"  he  said  softly  to  himself;  ''she  called  me 
'Kit.'"    Then  he  smiled. 

But  he  had  the  good  sense  to  know  his  limit,  the  guarded 
bounds  of  the  night,  and  not  to  try  for  more. 

"Sponton's  —  yes,  this  is  Sponton's,"  said  the  sleek- 
haired,  tightly-buttoned  epicene  boy  who  stood  behind  at 


SPONTON'S  321 

the  swinging  glass  door.    ''Mr.  Bisset's  party?    Yes,  sir — 
np-stairs,  second  on  the  riglit." 

Sponton^s  had  been  a  famous  place  in  the  beginning  of 
the  century.  In  it  had  sat  Scott  and  Jeffrey,  talking 
ceaselessly,  while  with  clear-cut  cameo  face  Lockhart  had 
listened.  Earlier  still  one  Burns  (lately  Burness)  had 
come  across  the  new  bridge  and  tasted  the  Scottish  stone 
ale,  ''virulent  as  a  tass  of  raw  brandy."  It  had  been  the 
rallying-place  of  the  New  Town  wits  against  their  natural 
enemies,  of  the  "Sports"  and  the  "Jeremies"  against 
the  bookish  haunters  of  Old  Town  printing-presses  and 
stationers'  shops. 

But  of  late  Sponton's  had  fallen  on  evil  times.  Great 
warehouses  had  walled  it  in.  A  domed  public  depart- 
ment had  overshadowed  it.  Its  once  commanding  site  had 
narrowed  with  the  years  to  a  shy,  many-angled  lane,  af- 
fording unrivalled  opportunities  for  quiet  approach  in  sev- 
eral directions.  Many  douce  Sunday-plate  citizens  knew 
Sponton's.  When  men  rubbed  shoulders  there,  oftentimes 
they  did  not  recognize  each  other.  There  was  something 
in  the  air  which  provoked  after-reticence. 

Yet  there  was  nothing  definitely  wrong  about  Sponton's 
— nothing  that  might  not  have  been  set  up  in  type  and 
printed  in  the  morning  paper.  Only  when  after  a  dinner 
there  a  well-known  author  was  found  tumbled  into  an  area 
with  a  broken  neck,  there  was  a  black  mark  against  Spon- 
ton's in  most  serious  men's  minds. 

Needless  to  say  neither  Kit  nor  Mary  Bisset  had  the 
least  idea  of  this  as  they  went  up-stairs.  But  the  con- 
sciousness of  it  accented  the  look  of  surprise  on  the  face 
of  the  befrizzled,  powder-tinged  attendant,  who  came  for- 
ward to  say,  respectfully  enough,  "  Will  the  lady  take  off 
her  hat  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Mary,  quickly,  and  a  little  breathlessly, 
"I  will  leave  my  cloak  and  go  in  as  I  am.     Dick  won't 
mind  !" 
21 


322  KIT    KENNEDY 

There  was  no  difficulty  in  locating  the  room  where  Dick 
Bisset  and  his  friend  Mr.  Marmy  Styles  were  holding  their 
select  little  supper-party.  A  hum  of  brisk  talk,  a  popping 
fusillade  of  corks,  told  that  Kit's  loan  could  not  go  far  in 
such  a  place.  It  was  well  that  Mr.  Styles  was  a  partner 
in  the  "  This-style  Nineteen  and  Eleven  "  shop  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  Bridges. 

Kit  and  Mary  were  hailed  clamorously  by  Dick  from  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  as  they  stood  tremulously  hesitat- 
ing in  the  doorway. 

"  Here  you  are— we  thought  you  had  bolted.  Wherever 
have  you  been  ?  '  A  starry  night  for  a  ramble  '—that  sort 
of  thing,  I  suppose.     Come  and  sit  down  !" 

Kit  was  stunned  at  what  he  saw,  and  Mary  Bisset  stood 
poised  and  quivering,  with  a  look  on  her  face  as  if  she 
meditated  flight. 

But  Dick  pulled  her  around  by  the  arm,  talking  all  the 
time. 

"Here  is  a  lady  friend  of  mine  who  wants  to  know  5'ou, 
Mary.  My  sister,  Miss  Violet  Clifford.  Sit  down,  Mary, 
Here,  Kennedy,  do  your  duty  I" 

Somehow  Kit  found  himself  in  a  chair.  Presently  Mary 
was  seated  by  his  side,  removing  her  gloves.  He  saw  a 
folded  white  napkin  on  his  plate,  and  he  had  not  the  least 
idea  what  to  do  with  it.  The  glitter  and  hum  dazed  him, 
and  he  started  violently  when  a  hand  was  laid  on  his 
shoulder. 

"Hello,  Kennedy,"  said  a  familiar  voice,  "I  did  not 
know  you  were  up  to  this  sort  of  thing  !  Congratulate 
you  on  your  pace,  my  boy.  But  what  would  they  say  up 
in  the  Kirk  on  the  Hill— eh,  what  ?" 

Kit  turned,  smiling  stupidly,  and  there  behind  him,  easy 
and  cool  in  evening  dress,  was  Clement  Sowerby. 

Instantly  Kit  became  conscious  that  he  alone  of  all 
present  was  attired  in  tweed.  Some  were  in  black  morn- 
ing coats,  for  the  affair  had  a  very  informal  air.     But  Kit 


SPONTON'S  323 

felt  inconceivably  miserable.  He  thought  that  Mary  wonld 
despise  him.  He  knew  the  other  fellows  would.  He 
seemed  to  recognize  amusement  in  the  half-smile  on  Sow- 
erby's  face. 

Yet  he  could  only  vacantly  stare  and  look  at  the  daz- 
zling front  of  Sowerby's  shirt. 

"Bisset  lives  on  the  same  stair,"  he  said,  awkwardly, 
''and  he  asked  me  to  bring  this  young  lady — his  sister  ?' 

Sowerby  bowed  slightly  as  Mary  glanced  up  at  the  men- 
tion of  her  brother's  name. 

"  Very  pleasant  duty,"  he  said  ;  "see  you  again  !  Ta-ta  I" 

But  as  he  fell  back  Sowerby,  who  was  a  better  fellow 
than  he  gave  himself  credit  for,  muttered,  "  Beastly  shame 
to  bring  his  sister  to  Sponton's — what  a  sweep  I" 


CHAPTER  XLin 

HIS     father's     SOX 

When"  Kit  had  time  to  distinguish  persons  he  noticed 
that  there  was  a  general  forcing  of  the  note  among  the 
ladies  of  the  party.  Their  color  was  generally  a  trifle 
high  and  unusually  permanent.  Not  like  Mary's,  which 
(Kit  thought  was  a  strange  elation)  paled  to  lily  clear- 
ness one  moment,  and  the  next  grew  pink  as  the  inner 
rose-leaves  where  the  dew  lingers  longest  in  the  morning. 
Their  voices  were  mirthful,  but  they  lacked  the  woodland 
abandon  of  Betty's  when  she  Avas  tantalizing  the  foresters, 
or  Mary's  gay  ripple  when  she  had  clapped  her  hands  and 
said,  "Oh,  '  Kit,'  that  is  a  nice  name — so  much  better  than 
Christopher." 

The  general  style  of  dress  was  also  a  little  extravagant, 
but  Kit  thought  that  no  doubt  some  of  the  costumes  were 
parti-colored  because  of  the  late  fancy  dress  bazaar. 

But  his  eyes  rested  with  a  curious  pride  on  the  plain 
black  gown  of  the  girl  beside  him. 

''No  one  of  them  is  the  least  like  her,"  he  summed  up 
his  observations,  and  many  of  the  men  about  the  table 
seemed  to  think  so  too.  Mary  kept  her  eyes  on  her  plate, 
and  after  the  first  stun  of  surprise  seemed  to  draw  nearer 
to  Kit,  talking  earnestly  and  quickly  all  the  time. 

Kit's  heart  beat  faster  than  ever  at  this  subtlest  flattery. 
He  sat  up  straighter  and  looked  more  boldly  about  him. 
He  found  no  difficulty  in  doing  as  the  others  did,  and  he 
emptied  again  and  again  the  curious  wide-mouthed  glass 


HIS    FATHER'S    SON  325 

which  was  set  before  him.  A  stronger  tide  of  life  ran 
through  his  soul.  Life  became  suddenly  wider,  richer, 
fuller.  Every  day  he  had  to  live  seemed  another  promis- 
sory note  of  thrilling  experience.  He  began  to  talk,  and 
with  the  eloquence  of  the  natural  observer  he  told  Mary 
Bisset  of  the  beauties  of  his  own  Galloway. 

He  warmed  as  he  spoke  of  the  delicate  flushing  rose- 
bells  of  the  heath  in  early  June  "till  the  wild  moors  look 
like  a  pretty  girl  blushing,"  he  said,  and  he  looked  at  her 
as  he  said  it. 

The  girl's  knife  and  fork  trembled  on  her  plate  with  the 
vibration  of  the  lad's  voice  in  her  heart. 

He  described  the  great  forty -acre  corn-field  with  its 
roods  of  rustling  oats,  and  the  wind  waves  coming  and 
going  across  it. 

"It  shines  Just  like  the  sun  on  your  hair,  Mary,"  he 
said. 

There  had  been  a  hush  at  the  table.  Several  had  been 
curiously  regarding  the  rough  tweed-clad  student  with  the 
pale,  eager  face.  Among  others  who  did  so  was  the  rubi- 
cund old  proprietor,  successor  to  the  original  Sponton. 
To  him  age  had  not  brought  reverence  nor  the  hoar  hair 
respect. 

So  that,  without  Kit  being  the  least  aware  of  it,  his 
voice  was  heard  all  over  the  room  in  the  hush  before  the 
rising  of  the  ladies. 

"Yes,"  he  repeated,  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mary  Bis- 
set's  cheek  turned  a  little  towards  him,  "  it  is  true  ;  I  will 
say  it  again.  The  wind  on  the  corn  at  home  is  just  like 
the  sunshine  on  your  hair,  when  you  go  down  the  street  on 
a  windy  morning !" 

A  roar  of  laughter  ran  round  the  table. 

"Bravo!"  cried  Clement  Sowerby,  clapping  his  hands, 
"Kennedy  can  'see'  us  all  and  'raise'  us  at  this  game. 
Bravo,  old  man  !     Galloway  forever — in  love  or  war  !" 

In  the  laughter  which  followed  all  rose  and  the  ladies 


326  KIT    KENNEDY 

trooped  out,  Mary  Bisset  following  with  a  crimsoned  face. 
The  girl  Violet  Clifford  came  and  took  her  by  the  arm 
kindly  and  went  out  with  her.  Then  all  the  young  men 
regrouped  themselves  and  began  to  talk  quite  differently. 
Kit  did  not  understand  a  tenth  of  what  they  said.  But 
after  he  had  sat  looking  about  him  for  ten  minutes  the  old 
proprietor  of  Sponton's  came  up  and,  with  his  usual  famil- 
iar courtesy  to  his  guests,  bent  his  dyed  mustache  over  Kit 
and  said,  "May  I  have  the  pleasure,  sir,  of  knowing  your 
name  ?  You  remind  me  so  strongly  of  a  face  I  used  to  see 
here  thirty  years  ago." 

"My  name  is  Kit — that  is — Christopher  Kennedy  !"  the 
lad  answered.  The  rubicund  man  stood  back  to  take  an- 
other look  at  him.  "  Bless  my  soul  !  "Well — well — well  I" 
he  muttered.     "Most  strange — " 

"  What  is  strange  ?"  said  Kit,  absently  enough,  with  his 
eye  on  the  door  at  which  he  expected  to  see  Mary  Bisset  re- 
appear. 

"Nothing  —  nothing,"  replied  the  proprietor,  with  his 
fingers  on  his  chin — "  a  coincidence,  nothing  more.  I  once 
knew  a  man  of  your  name  !" 

"■  Now,  then,  pay  the  shot  V  cried  Eichard  Bisset,  jovially. 
"  I'll  take  the  chink  now,  if  you  please  !  For  you  fellows 
won^t  have  a  rap  on  you  by  to-morrow  morning.  Come, 
shell  out.  Ten  bob  each  for  yourselves  and  five  for  the 
lady." 

Kit  rose  gasping,  but  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  show 
no  surprise.  Yet  his  heart  fairly  sank  within  him.  An- 
other of  his  few  pounds  gone — the  precious  pounds  which 
were  to  see  him  through  the  session. 

More  as  a  precaution  than  anything  else, he  had  put  one 
in  his  pocket  when  he  came  out.     He  handed  it  to  Dick. 

"All  right,  you're  a  blooming  Croesus,"  said  he  ;  "I  saw 
this  fellow  with  a  pack  of  these  last  night  in  his  '  digs '; 
the  other  five  shillings  will  just  do  for  the  entrance  money 
to  the  Elysium." 


II TS    FATHER'S    SON  327 

And  Mr.  Richard  Bisset  thrust  Mr.  Secretary  Fleming's 
second  crisp  bank-note  into  his  pocket. 

At  this  moment  Miss  Violet  Clifford  put  her  head  prettily 
in  at  the  door  with  her  hat  on,  a  rather  flamboyant  com- 
position of  yellow  satin  and  white  feathers. 

''Well,  lazy  fellows,"  she  tinkled,  "we  are  ready  if  you 
are.  Perhaps,  though,  you  don't  want  to  come.  If  not, 
there  are  others  in  plenty  who  will  !" 

Opening  the  door  wider  she  came  into  the  room,  and  as- 
sumed the  dignity  and  port  of  a  sergeant-major, 

'"Slnin!"  &he  cried.  "Stand  at  ease!  Order  arms! 
Quick  march  I" 

And  she  waited  till  all  had  passed  her.  Kit  was  last, 
and  as  he  went  by  she  took  him  by  the  arm  and  detained 
him  a  moment. 

"See  here,"  she  whispered,  hurriedly,  "take  that  girl 
home.  She  is  a  teacher  in  a  school,  and  though  there's  no 
harm  for  us  —  or  you  either,  perhaps  —  there  may  be  both 
harm  and  trouble  for  her.  It's  a  shame  for  Dick  to  have 
let  her  come." 

"How  can  I  ?"  said  Kit.  "I  have  promised.  She  ex- 
pects it." 

"Nonsense,"  cried  the  girl,  angrily.  "I  tell  you,  you 
do  not  know.  It  will  do  her  harm  in  her  profession  to  be 
seen  at  the  Elysium." 

They  had  moved  out  now,  and  Kit,  looking  down  the 
narrow  hall  which  formed  the  private  entrance  to  Sponton's, 
saw  Mary  Bisset  standing  near  the  door  as  if  meditating 
flight.  As  soon  as  she  saw  Kit,  she  made  a  slight  gesture 
as  if  to  go  to  him.  But  seeing  Miss  Clifford's  hand  on  his 
arm  she  stopped  suddenly,  and  somewhat  ostentatiously 
resumed  her  conversation  with  her  brother's  friend,  Mr. 
Marmaduke  Styles. 

"  Now  go,"  said  Miss  Clifford,  giving  him  a  little  impe- 
rions  push  ;  "  do  as  I  tell  you  !" 

Somewhat  unceremoniously  Kit  took  possession  of  Mary, 


328  KIT    KENNEDY 

ousting  Mr.  Styles  witliont  apology,  and  they  were  on  the 
doorstep  and  going  down  the  steps  before  he  knew  it.  The 
Elysium  was  quite  near  to  Sponton's,  and  as  the  night  was 
fine  the  party  had  elected  to  walk  to  the  boxes  which  had 
been  reserved  for  them. 

Mary  was  very  silent,  though  she  suffered  Kit  to  take 
her  hand  and  put  it  on  his  sleeve.  But  there  was  now  no 
warmth  in  the  pressure. 

"  Mary,"  said  Kit,  as  soon  as  they  Avere  out  of  hearing  of 
their  companions,  ^'^do  you  think  we  should  go  with  the 
others  to  this  place  ?  Would  your  headmaster  like  to  hear 
of  it  ?" 

"I  am  not  responsible  to  him  for  where  I  go.  Nor  to 
you  either,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  said  Mary,  with  considerable 
asperity.     "  I  am  with  my  brother." 

Kit  wondered  what  was  the  matter,  but  had  not  the  tact 
to  find  out  without  asking. 

"  I  think  you  should  let  me  take  you  home,"  he  said, 
lamely  enough. 

Mary  instantly  removed  her  hand  from  his  arm,  and 
turned  to  look  for  Dick. 

*'  You  are  at  liberty  to  go  and  find  that  girl  with  the 
dyed  hair  if  you  like,"  she  said,  with  a  joretty  spitefulness. 
"  I  will  accompany  my  brother." 

''"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Mary?"  cried  Dick  Bisset, 
who  was  coming  along  after  tliem.  "  What's  this  ? — Ken- 
nedy wants  to  go  home  !  Oh,  nonsense,  of  course  not — 
unless  you  would  rather.    Well,  make  up  your  own  minds." 

And  he  passed  on  with  Miss  Violet  Clifford  upon  his 
arm.  As  the  latter  went  by  she  cast  a  look  backward  at 
Kit  over  her  shoulder  which  happily  Mary  did  not  inter- 
cept. 

Mary  stood  a  moment,  secretly  relenting  at  the  sight  of 
his  dejected  countenance. 

"  Are  you  sorry  ?"  she  said,  severely. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  are  angry  with  me,"  said  Kit. 


ins    FATHER'S    SON  329 

"  Well,  let's  say  no  more  about  it — come  along  !" 

And  putting  her  hand  more  confidently  than  before  on 
his  arm  she  said,  "Kit,  I  did  not  like  that  man  with  the 
watch-chain.  He  frightened  me  a  little.  But  I  feel  quite 
safe  with  Dick — and  you  !" 

There  was  nothing  left  but  for  Kit  to  obey.  So  now  the 
pair,  left  last  of  all,  silently  followed  the  others  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  famous  Elysium  Theatre,  Auditorium,  and 
Music-hall — as  it  was  named  in  the  advertisements. 

At  that  time  the  entrance  to  the  better  places  was  not 
through  the  present  spacious  hall,  with  its  bunched  elec- 
tric lights  and  countless  palms  and  statues.  The  entrant 
to  the  boxes  or  stalls  had  to  pass  along  a  narrow  lane,  half 
of  which  was  occupied  by  a  concreted  channel,  down  which 
in  the  winter  rains  a  stream  flowed  towards  the  subterra- 
nean levels  of  the  Cowgate.  It  seemed  to  Kit  that,  as  he 
turned  down  here  with  Mary  on  his  arm,  he  cauglit  a 
glimpse  of  a  dusky  figure  flitting  before  them. 

But  he  saw  no  one,  and  he  was  just  making  up  his  mind 
by  which  of  the  three  inscribed  doors  arranged  side  by  side 
he  was  to  enter  when  out  of  the  darkness,  straight  in  front 
of  him,  a  figure  stepped  into  the  glare  of  the  gas-jets,  a  man 
haggard,  worn,  emaciated,  scarce  of  this  world,  a  figure 
which  struck  shame  and  gratitude  and  fear  all  at  once 
into  Kit's  heart.  It  was  the  man  to  whom  he  owed  all, 
yet  upon  whom  since  leaving  Galloway  he  had  scarcely  be- 
stowed a  single  thought. 

The  "  Orra  Man"  stood  before  him,  between  Mary  Bisset 
and  the  door  of  the  Elysium. 

Kit  disengaged  his  arm  with  a  quick  cry,  and  ran  for- 
ward with  his  hand  held  warmly  out.  The  "  Orra  Man," 
instead  of  shaking  it,  put  his  own  right  hand  behind  him. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  will  not  shake  you  by  the  hand  till 
yon  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  going  in  there," 

He  pointed  with  the  index  finger  of  his  left  hand  to  the 
brilliant  portals  of  the  Elysium. 


330  KIT    KENNEDY 

^'  Why,"  said  Kit,  a  sort  of  quick  chill  obstinacy  coming 
over  him,  "  I  am  taking  this  young  lady  to  join  a  company 
of  whom  her  brother  is  one.     Nothing  more  !" 

'^No,"  cried  the  "  Orra  Man,"  tragically,  ''but  it  is 
something  more !  That  for  you  is  the  way  of  death,  with 
Hell  following  after.  Others  may  try  it  unharmed,  but 
not  you.  And  if  this  girl  is  as  innocent  as  her  face  pro- 
claims her,  as  I  think  her  to  be — I  pray  you — I  command 
you — take  her  to  her  home.  She  will  thank  you  one 
day." 

"  I  owe  you  much,"  said  Kit,  doggedly,  "  but  you  have 
no  right  to  dictate  to  me  what  I  should  do.  No,  nor  yet 
to  this  young  lady.  I  tell  you  I  am  taking  her  to  her 
brother." 

''Brother  or  no  brother,"  cried  the  "  Orra  Man,"  "yon 
do  not  pass  here  while  I  can  stop  you.  Listen,  I  have  a 
right  to  prevent  you.  I  myself  have  flaunted  it  in  such 
companies  as  you  Avere  led  into  to-night.  I  have  tasted  the 
tree  of  bitter  knowledge.  I  have  eaten  the  apples  of  Sodom 
that  grow  thereon.  The  ashes  are  under  my  tongue  now. 
Kit  Kennedy,  that  way  is  death  to  you.  I  have  seen  the 
worm  that  dieth  not.  The  germ  is  in  your  blood.  I  knew 
that  it  would  grow,  and  that  I  alone  could  save  you.  For 
this  I  left  Galloway.  For  this  I  came  to  Edinburgh,  that 
you  might  never  know  what  I  have  known,  the  utter  agony 
of  having  dragged  the  innocent  down  with  you  to  the  pit 
— the  remorse,  the  bitter,  unavailing  regret  for  the  past. 
I  tell  you,  turn  and  flee  !  Stand  not  on  the  order  of  your 
going.     Go  !" 

"I  will  not,"  said  Kit,  excitement  and  anger  towering 
in  his  brain.  "Stand  out  of  the  way!  What  right  have 
you  to  say  where  I  should  go,  or  with  whom  ?" 

And  with  his  strong  young  man's  arm  he  would  easily 
have  swept  the  frail  body  of  the  "Orra  Man"  out  of  his 
way,  but  all  at  once  a  white  flame  seemed  to  pass  across 
the  countenance  of  the  ragged  man  who  withstood  him. 


HIS    FATHER'S    SON  331 

It  was  as  if  his  features  had  suddenly  been  lit  up  by  a  flash 
of  lightning  which  shone  on  them. 

"I  will  tell  you,  Kit  Kennedy,"  he  cried,  ''the  right  I 
have  to  withstand  you — I  also  am  Christopher  Keiwiedy  aoid 
your  father !" 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

THE    IITFIDEL   LECTURER 

The  strange  revulsion  of  feeling  which  came  over  Kit  at 
the  ''Orra  Man's"  words,  the  new  light  shed  back  upon 
the  past,  his  mother's  warnings,  the  half-understood  taunts 
of  schoolmates,  his  own  vague  questionings,  all  combined 
to  compel  belief.  Why  else  should  this  man  spend  labori- 
ous days  and  sleepless  nights  in  teaching  him  —  whence 
came  his  indubitable  learning,  if  this  were  not  the  sometime 
classical  master  of  Cairn  Edward  Academy  whose  name  he 
bore  ?  Besides,  there  was  something  else,  a  reverberating 
string  in  Kit's  heart  which  told  him  the  man  spoke  the 
truth. 

"  I  will  go,"  he  said,  brokenly.  "1  will  go  home.  Come, 
Mary  !" 

And  the  girl,  with  that  sense  of  being  bound  up  with 
great  occasions  which  more  than  anything  dominates  wom- 
en, turned  away  from  the  door  of  the  Elysium  and  walked 
southward  with  Kit  without  a  word.  The  "Orra  Man" 
did  not  follow  them.  He  stood  still  on  the  steps  from 
which  he  had  spoken  to  them,  the  garish  lights  shining 
steadily  down  on  his  pale  face  and  ragged  attire. 

Kit  and  Mary  were  just  vanishing  into  the  darkness 
when  Dick  Bisset  came  to  the  door.  He  peered  up  and 
down  the  lane,  and  a  liveried  official  also  looked  out  be- 
hind him. 

"Kennedy — Mary,"  he  cried,  "hurry  up  !  We  are  wait- 
ing !"     Then  to  himself  he  muttered,  "  They  are  not  in 


THE    INFIDEL    LECTURER  333 

sight.  I  guess  they  have  grown  chicken-hearted  and  gone 
liome.  All  right !  I've  got  the  yokel's  dollars,  and  they 
can  please  themselves." 

The  official,  a  fatted  bull  of  Bashan  in  livery  button 
and  gold  braid,  caught  sight  of  the  "  Orra  Man  "  standing 
at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

"Hey,  get  away  from  there,"  he  cried.  "You  are  here 
after  no  good.  I'll  bring  a  policeman  to  you  in  a  min- 
ute !" 

And  the  elder  Christopher  Kennedy  also  turned  and 
went  out  of  these  dusky  Elysian  Fields  into  the  keen  frost- 
bitten, lamp-lit  cheerfulness  of  the  town.  Kit  and  Mary 
were  already  out  of  sight  before  him.  A  light  snow  was 
beginning  to  fall,  and  the  broad,  far-sailing  flakes  blew  in 
their  faces.  Mary  Bisset  did  not  speak.  She  knew  in- 
stinctively that  Kit's  heart  must  be  a  whirling  chaos.  Bat 
she  did  what  was  better.  She  put  her  left  hand  up  and 
joined  it  to  her  right  so  that  the  fingers  of  both  lay  lightly 
netted  upon  the  lad's  arm.  And  the  slight  action  healed 
and  stilled  Kit's  heart  more  than  any  words. 

By  the  time  they  turned  from  the  glow  and  clatter  of 
the  main  thoroughfare,  up  the  long  defile  of  the  street  at 
the  end  of  which  loomed  their  door,  both  were  calmer. 
But  it  was  the  girl  who  spoke. 

"If  you  can  tell  my  father  anything,  he  is  a  wise  man. 
Many  come  to  him  for  advice.  He  does  not  believe  like 
others,  perhaps.  He  does  not  go  to  church.  They  call 
him  an  infidel.     But  he  will  tell  you  what  to  do." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Kit,  "perhaps  I  will.  But  not  to- 
night.    I  think  I  will  go  straight  home  to-night." 

"  Come  in  with  me,"  pleaded  the  girl ;  "  they  will  ask 
me  where  Dick  is  and  I  shall  need  you." 

Kit  silently  acquiesced,  and  the  pressure  of  the  little 
smooth  brown  glove  on  his  arm  was  more  than  sufficient 
thanks. 

When  they  went  in  Mr.  Bisset  was  bending  his  dark 


334  KIT    KENNEDY 

brows  over  Rawlinson's  ''Five  Monarchies"  and  making 
copious  notes  in  a  ruled  note-book.  He  looked  up  with  a 
sudden  brightening  of  the  eyes  as  his  daughter  came  in. 
Then  the  girl,  without  taking  off  her  hat,  ran  over  to  him 
and  installed  herself  on  his  knee. 

"At  it  again,  Dad  V  she  said,  brightly.  "1  declare  I 
think  it  is  you  who  are  the  student  and  not  Mr.  Kennedy 
here.  He  never  seems  to  have  anything  to  do.  I  don't 
believe  he  is  a  student  at  all." 

Mr.  Bisset  looked  over  at  Kit  soberly,  and  said  with  a 
certain  characteristic  sententiousness,  *'Mr.  Kennedy  is 
getting  a  great  opportunity — an  opportunity  for  which  I 
would  have  given  ten  years  of  my  life.  I  am  sure  he  is 
profiting  by  it.  I  also  have  attended  classes  at  the  uni- 
versity. But  I  could  not  compete  with  striplings  from  the 
High  School  or  even  with  such  well-trained  youths  from 
the  country  as  himself.  My  mind,  matured  in  many  things, 
lacked  the  easy  suppleness  of  youth.  It  was  more  difficult 
for  me  to  acquire,  easier  for  me  to  let  slip,  more  difficult 
for  me  to  summon  my  knowledge  at  call.  From  what 
school  did  you  come,  Mr.  Kennedy  ?  There  are,  I  hear, 
good  schools  in  Galloway." 

Kit  blushed  crimson. 

"I  did  not  come  from  any  school,"  said  Kit.  ''I  was 
taught  privately  by — by  a  friend." 

The  Infidel  Lecturer  glanced  keenly  at  Kit. 

"  He  must  have  been  a  fine  scholar,  sir,"  he  answered ; 
"did  not  you  win  a  bursary  ?" 

Kit  nodded  and  looked  at  the  floor. 

"He  is  ashamed  of  this  teacher,"  thought  his  question- 
er, for  the  first  time  disappointed  in  the  lad.  "I  will  find 
out  if  this  is  so.     And  if  it  is — " 

Kit's  welcome  in  the  house  of  the  Bissets  hung  on  his 
next  words. 

"  He  was  perhaps  not  a  very  desirable  acquaintance  after 
you  had  finished  with  your  studies  ?" 


THE    INFIDEL    LECTURER  335 

The  clouds  cleared  instantly  from  Kit's  brow  at  the 
question. 

"Oh  no/'  he  said,  eagerly,  "you  must  not  think  so.  I 
was  only  sorry  that  he  would  let  me  do  so  little  for  him. 
I  have  not  been  in  the  least  worthy  of  his  help  and  friend- 
ship." 

Kit  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  Mary  had  stolen  quickly 
and  quietly  out  of  the  room.  He  was  alone  with  the 
stern  -  browed  man,  who  seemed  to  wait  for  him  to  say 
more. 

With  all  his  natural  impulsiveness  Kit  dashed  at  the 
difficulty. 

"  He  was  my  father,  sir,  but  I  did  not  know  it  till  to- 
night." 

The  dark  man  nodded  without  manifesting  any  surprise. 
He  was  accustomed  to  hear  unexpected  things,  and  so  when 
Kit  rushed  headlong  into  his  story,  not  sparing  himself 
nor  blinking  the  facts  of  his  idleness  and  neglect  of  college 
work,  he  merely  sat  still  and  listened.  Kit  could  not  enter 
into  the  events  of  the  night  without  implicating  Dick. 
But  he  said  enough  to  give  Mr.  Bisset  the  clue.  The  In- 
fidel Lecturer  heard  him  to  the  end  without  comment,  and 
then  held  out  his  hand  across  the  table. 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  featherhead  like  Dick,"  he  said, 
"but  I  see  you  will  make  a  man  yet." 

Then  one  of  the  things  happened  Avhich  are  called  provi- 
dential. There  came  a  ring  at  the  little  tinkling  bell,  and 
presently  Mrs.  Bisset,  Avho  had  been  busied  in  the  kitchen 
with  the  preparation  of  supper,  ushered  in  a  visitor. 

It  was  Mr.  Cathcart,  Mary  Bisset's  headmaster. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  Mary  herself  came  forward 
with  somewhat  heightened  color. 

He  was  a  tallish,  dark,  official  -  looking  man,  with  a 
formal  manner  and  a  rather  melancholy  address,  as  if  the 
responsibility  of  so  many  children  had  taken  all  the  youth 
and  boyishness  out  of  him. 


336  KIT    KENNEDY 

''Why,  Miss  Bisset,  then  yon  did  not  go  to  the  hospital 
after  all !"  he  said,  at  the  sight  of  her. 

"  No,"  said  Mary,  a  little  breathlessly,  '^I  knew  nothing 
about  it  till  Dick  told  me,  and  then,  after  all,  he  was  called 
elsewhere  !" 

Kit  somehow  felt  a  strange,  angry  resentment  against 
this  man  begin  to  steal  over  him.  He  noted  jealously  the 
flush  on  Mary's  cheek  when  she  spoke  to  him,  and  he  did 
not  understand  that  she  was  trying  to  preserve  the  balance 
between  truth  and  the  reputation  of  a  brother  like  Dick. 

*'I  did  not  expect  to  find  any  one  except  your  father," 
said  the  schoolmaster,  "but  I  thought  I  might  have  the 
benefit  of  some  conversation  with  him." 

To  this  Mr.  Bisset  did  not  answer.  There  was  the  sound 
of  another  voice  at  the  door,  one  anxious  and  a  little  queru- 
lous. The  Lecturer  was  listening  with  straying  attention, 
and  did  not  hear  Mr.  Cathcart's  last  words. 

Presently  his  wife  came  to  the  door  of  the  little  parlor. 

"  William,  you  are  wanted,"  she  said. 

The  Infidel  Lecturer  went  out  and  almost  immediately 
returned. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  quietly,  "do  not  wait  up  for  me.  I 
am  needed  over  in  the  Grassmarket.  I  may  not  be  home 
all  night." 

"  Very  well,  William,"  said  his  wife,  evidently  accus- 
tomed to  such  an  event. 

"  Will  you  walk  a  little  way  with  me,  Mr.  Kennedy  ?" 
said  Mr.  Bisset,  going  to  the  corner  to  take  a  great  oaken 
staff  in  his  hand  ;  "  we  will  talk  as  we  go.  I  am  sorry  to 
bid  you  good-night  so  soon,  Mr.  Cathcart,  but  a  sick  man 
wishes  to  see  me.  Such  things  happen  even  to  a  pastor 
without  a  church,  an  apostle  without  a  creed  !" 

He  smiled  slightly  and  held  out  his  hand.  The  school- 
master took  it  with  an  alacrity  which  was  not  lost  upon 
Kit.  He  on  his  part  could  do  nothing  but  prepare  to 
obey.     He  shook  hands  with  Mary  without  looking  at  her. 


THE    INFIDEL    LECTURER  337 

and  though  there  was  a  slight  smile  upon  her  lips,  her  eyes 
followed  him  sympathetically  down  the  stairs.  AVhen  Kit 
thought  that  she  had  gone  in  he  stole  one  swift  glance 
back,  and  lo  !  there  she  was  still,  her  arms  on  the  rail,  look- 
ing down  on  him.  Her  face  lit  tip  quickly  as  if  she  were 
saying,  "  Tell  him  !"  She  waved  her  hand  gracefully  and 
kindly  towards  him,  and  somehow  Kit  went  out  into  the 
whirling  snowstorm  strangely  comforted.  Though  he  had 
left  the  schoolmaster  in  the  little  lamp -lit  parlor  alone 
with  his  sweetheart,  Kit  somehow  felt  that  he  had  taken 
the  soul  of  Mary  Bisset  out  with  him  into  the  storm. 

The  Infidel  (as  Mrs.  Christison  most  unjustly  called 
him)  was  wrapped  in  a  huge  Inverness  cloak  of  gray  frieze, 
with  a  collar  which  stood  up  about  his  ears.  !Kit,  who  had 
never  possessed  a  great  coat  in  his  life,  simply  buttoned 
his  stout  tweed  jacket  up  to  the  neck  and  strode  on  beside 
his  friend. 

It  was  a  strangely  altered  world  into  which  these  two 
emerged,  the  first  snow-storm  of  the  year,  and  already  it 
had  wrapped  all  the  city  in  a  white  clinging  mystery.  The 
wind  from  the  north  still  kept  the  pavements  fairly  clean, 
but  a  thin  and  steady  drift  blew  low  along  them  which 
banked  itself  deeply  at  every  turning.  And  there  were 
growing  wreaths  piling  themselves  in  SAvirls  at  the  angles 
of  the  narrow  alleys  through  which  they  made  their  way 
steadily  towards  the  Grassmarket. 

"Now  tell  me  about  your  father,"  said  Mr.  Bisset, 
kindly. 

And  Kit  told  all  he  knew.  He  spoke  of  his  grandfather, 
the  ruling  Elder  in  the  Kirk  on  the  Hill.  He  told  of  his 
mother's  marriage,  and  of  all  the  unhappiness  which  came 
after,  of  the  loss  of  the  Dornal,  and  the  stone-breaking  by 
the  roadside.  Then,  softening  the  details  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, he  told  of  his  first  sight  of  the  "  Orra  Man,"  of  their 
compact,  and  how  it  was  carried  out.  He  related  the  story 
of  the  long  nights  of  three  winters  in  the  Black  Sheds,  of 
22 


338  KIT    KENNEDY 

the  early  summer  mornings  that  broke  ere  they  had  fin- 
ished their  work,  and  of  all  the  growing  knowledge  which 
had  ended  in  the  winning  of  the  First  Galloway  Bursary. 

And  as  he  talked  the  hand  of  the  Infidel  Lecturer  fell 
upon  his  shonlder  and  remained  there.  William  Bisset 
heard  Kit  to  the  end  and  then  he  spoke. 

"  We'll  make  a  man  of  yon  yet,"  he  said  ;  "  but  first  we 
mnst  make  a  man  of  yonr  father  !" 

Tliey  were  crossing  the  wide  space  at  the  higher  corner 
of  Candlemaker  Row,  now  tortured  and  tumnltuous  with 
whirling  snow.  Grayfriars'  Bobbie,  coated  white  as  he 
must  often  have  been  during  his  lonely  vigils  on  his  mas- 
ter's grave,  looked  down  npon  them  as  they  turned  down 
into  the  dark  trench  of  houses. 

"1  will  think  over  this  and  find  your  father,"  said  Mr. 
Bisset;  "no  one  can  long  be  hid  in  this  little  city, 
though  there  are  some  queer  places  in  it,  too.  But  I  can 
go  where  the  police  dare  not.  It  is  my  one  privilege. 
Now,  do  you  turn  back  !" 

*'Let  me  come  all  the  way  with  you,"  said  Kit,  impul- 
sively. 

The  Lecturer  seemed  to  hesitate  a  moment. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "you  may  see  some  strange  things  and 
observe  what  you  call  religion  from  a  new  angle.  Still,  if 
you  wish  it  you  may  come.  Walk  straight  after  me,  and 
keep  your  eyes  only  on  that  which  immediately  concerns 
us." 

The  two  men  crossed  the  white-sheeted  causeway  of  the 
Grassmarket,  and  at  the  farther  side  dived  into  a  dense 
rabbit-warren  of  houses.  But  Mr.  Bisset  did  not  hesitate 
a  moment.  As  they  went  do-wn  the  steps  a  policeman 
turned  his  lantern  into  their  faces  inquiringly. 

"  Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Bisset,"  said  the  man,  "  I  thought  it 
was  a  pair  o'  my  'lambs.'  It's  no  a  time  to  be  out  on 
pleasure.  And  them  that's  in  the  Grassmarket  this  nicht 
has  a  reason  I" 


THE    INFIDEL    LECTURER  339 

*'  All  right,  Fergus/'  said  the  Lecturer,  ''  I  have  a 
reason !" 

''  I'll  wager  that  !"  answered  Constable  Fergus,  and  shut 
off  the  light  of  his  lantern  with  a  snap. 

''Now  take  my  hand,"  said  Kit's  guide;  ''it  is  scarce 
canny  walking  here." 

He  went  down  many  steps,  and  then  with  equal  confi- 
dence went  up.  He  passed  dark  doors  and  wound  round 
spiral  staircases,  through  whose  iron-barred  windows  the 
wind  whistled  and  the  sparse  snow  drifted.  Half-way  up  a 
man  opened  a  door  and  held  a  candle  into  their  faces,  go- 
ing in  again  with  a  muttered  curse  of  disappointment,  and 
leaving  the  darkness  more  comjjlete  than  ever. 

At  last  Mr.  Bisset  stopped.  He  paused  a  moment  as  if 
to  listen.  But  it  was  as  silent  within  as  it  was  dark  with- 
out. 

A  smell  of  chloride  of  lime  oozed  from  under  the  door. 
Mr.  Bisset  rapped.  A  faint  light  stirred  inside,  filtering 
round  the  ill-fitting  frame,  and  shooting  illuminated  ar- 
rows from  latch  and  key-hole. 

A  woman  stood  within  barring  entrance,  a  tall,  gaunt 
woman  with  a  wisp  of  gray  hair  across  her  brow. 

Sullenly  and  silently  she  drew  back  at  sight  of  Mr. 
Bisset,  who  passed  austerely  in  as  if  unconscious  of  her 
obvious  ill-will.  He  strode  straight  along  a  narrow  pas- 
sage, his  great  shoulders  brushing  either  wall  equally,  and 
Kit  followed  at  his  heel. 

Both  worlds  were  growing  bigger  before  the  First  Bursar 
of  the  United  Galloway  Societies. 

His  guide  entered  a  small  kitchen-room,  clean  and  care- 
fully tidied  up.  The  tiles  of  the  fireplace  had  been  recently 
whitened,  and  the  ribs  of  the  grate  were  blacked  and  pol- 
ished. A  kettle  sang  thinly  on  the  hob.  There  were  two 
closed  and  curtained  beds  along  one  wall,  and  upon  them 
small  heaped  mounds  told  of  the  sleep  of  childhood.  As 
Kit  stopped  one  of  the  heaps  moved  a  little,  and  he  caught 


340  KIT    KENNEDY 

the  glint  of  a  black  eye  and  a  tossed  elf  lock  that  fell  over 
a  thin,  inquiring  face. 

On  the  other  side  was  a  larger  bed,  also  let  into  the  wall 
and  curtained  with  faded  chintz.  The  latter  had  been  so 
often  washed  that  the  color  and  pattern  were  almost  indis- 
tinguishable. Nevertheless  everything  was  clean  as  coun- 
try linen. 

A  man,  small-featured,  haggard,  hollow  of  eye  and  cheek, 
lay  sunkenly  on  the  bed.  His  thin  hand  drooped  over  the 
coverlet.  He  had  a  brush  of  stubbly  gray  hair  like  a 
dragoon's  helmet  on  the  top  of  his  head.  A  shoemaker's 
bench  and  stool  in  a  corner  betrayed  his  occupation.  His 
face  wore  a  querulous,  almost  acrid  expression  in  moments 
of  pain,  but  at  other  times  a  certain  unwilling  nobility 
crept  into  it.  There  was  at  least  no  doubt  that  his  eyes  lit 
up  when  they  fell  upon  his  visitor. 

The  cobbler  held  out  his  hand,  lifting  it  from  the  patch- 
work as  if  it  had  been  a  dead  weight. 

"Ye  hae  come  !"  he  said. 

"You  are  very  ill,  Bartholomew!"  said  Mr.  Bisset, 
touching  the  man's  wrist  lightly,  and  as  it  seemed  me- 
chanically, in  search  for  his  pulse. 

"  I  am  going,  sir — going  to  find  out !"  He  smiled  as  he 
said  it. 

"  Ah,  Bartholomew,  I  envy  you  to-night  if  that  be  so," 
said  the  Lecturer,  sadly ;  "  that  is  the  best,  after  all.  They 
have  called  us  Agnostics  so  long — Know  Nothings.  You 
have  your  chance  now  to  prove  them  wrong." 

"I  Vt^ould  not  be  sorry,  sir,"  said  the  cobbler,  "but  for 
these." 

And  a  slight  movement  of  his  hand  included  his  wife 
and  the  sleeping  children.  Kit  caught  again  the  restless 
black  eye  out  of  the  heaped  coverlets  in  the  other  bed. 

"Don't  go  hard  because  o'  me,  Bartholomew,"  said  the 
woman,  coming  to  the  bedside.  "I  have  kept  the  poor 
children  from  starvation  before  and  I  can  look  after  them 


THE    INFIDEL    LECTURER  341 

again,  praise  God.  It  will  be  better  telling  you  now  to 
think  of  your  immortal  soul." 

She  cast  a  savage  glance  at  the  Lecturer,  which,  however, 
seemed  to  be  absorbed  by  the  mild  persistence  of  his  glance. 

''  To  be  faithful,  honest,  diligent,  owing  no  man  any- 
thing—  these  are  no  bad  recommendations  to  any  true 
God,"  said  Mr.  Bisset,  gently,  "and  Bartholomew  need 
not  fear  to  meet  such  an  One  on  his  journeyings." 

"  Be  soft  with  her,  sir,"  murmured  Bartholomew  the 
cobbler,  ''ours  is  the  sterner,  the  more  barren  creed.  It 
is  not  fit  for  her  ;  she  is  a  woman." 

"It  is  best  so,"  said  Mr.  Bisset,  "I  would  not  have  it 
otherwise.  Let  every  man  be  fully  persuaded,  did  not 
the  Tarsan  say  ?" 

"  Who  is  this  young  man  ?"  said  the  cobbler,  looking 
across  at  Kit  with  a  strange  look.  It  was  as  if  death  were 
in  speech  with  life,  one  world  hailing  another. 

"  He  is  a  young  student  who  lives  beside  me ;  I  brought 
him  to  talk  to  on  the  way.      It  is  a  very  stormy  night." 

The  dying  nlan  smiled. 

"Aye,"  he  said;  "I  wonder  if  in  half  an  hour  I  shall 
be  looking  down  on  the  house-tops  ?  It  is  a  rough  night 
to  be  going  so  far." 

As  he  grew  feebler  he  motioned  the  Lecturer  nearer  to 
his  lips.  And  Kit,  seeing  that  they  wished  to  speak  pri- 
vately together,  moved  over  to  a  scrubbed  white-wood 
chair  by  the  side  of  the  bed  where  he  had  twice  seen  the 
black  beady  eyes  and  the  tangled  elf  locks. 

Kit  had  a  penny  in  his  pocket.  He  took  it  out  and 
stealthily  held  it  on  the  edge  of  the  mattress.  There 
were  two  black  eyes  watching  him  now.  The  tall  Avom- 
an  moved  gauntly  and  mechanically  athwart  the  fireplace, 
and  rubbed  a  brass  knob  here  and  a  piece  of  iron  there. 
Kit  held  the  penny  a  little  higher.  A  hand  almost  like  the 
beak  of  a  bird  shot  out  from  under  the  torn  blankets  and 
pecked  it  away. 


342  KIT    KENNEDY 

*'  Yes,  Bartholomew,"  Kit  conld  hear  the  voice  of  the 
Lecturer,  "  she  shall  be  cared  for.  We  of  the  Many  Minds 
are  poor,  and  it  would  not  be  well  for  her  to  be  among  us, 
at  any  rate.     But  I  know  a  man — " 

"  What,  not  a  minister  ?'"  cried  the  voice  of  the  cobbler. 
"  No  minister  would  trouble  himself  with  the  widow  of  a 
dead  unbeliever." 

"You  are  no  unbeliever,  Bartholomew.  Only  fools  are 
unbelievers.  And,  at  any  rate,  Alexander  Strong  would 
not  care  what  you  were.  I  promise  you  your  wife  and 
bairns  shall  not  want." 

Mr.  Bisset  rose. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  the  cobbler,  his  eye  painfully 
bright.  "  Let  there  be  no  farewells  on  the  platform  when 
the  train  goes  out  into  the  night.  It  is  better  so.  Good- 
bye, sir.  Wife,  see  that  the  children  are  covered.  It  is 
a  bitter  blast  outside.  And  I  want  you  to  lie  down.  You 
must  be  tired.  I  am  going  to  turn  my  face  to  the  wall. 
I  must  try  to  sleep." 

And  as  Kit  followed  Mr.  Bisset  out  he  looked  back. 
The  cobbler  had  already  turned  his  frail  body  away  from 
them.  The  gaunt  and  silent  wife  was  arranging  his  pillow 
gently,  and  from  the  bed  on  the  other  side  Kit  caught 
sight  of  the  dark  head  of  a  girl  of  eight.  The  penuy  was 
fitted  into  one  of  her  eye-sockets,  and  she  was  regarding 
him  with  a  haughty  and  even  indignant  stare. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

THE    BROKElSr    HINGES 

The  Lecturer  and  Kit  walked  rapidly  throngh  the  white, 
deserted  streets  till  they  reached  a  tall  house  in  a  fashion- 
able quarter.  Mr.  Bisset  stopped  before  it.  The  windows 
were  dark,  but  a  little  faint  light  came  from  the  hall,  fil- 
tering through  the  ground-glass  of  the  fanlight  and  reveal- 
ing the  number.  It  was  52,  and  the  figures  will  recall 
things  high  as  heaven,  warm  as  the  Forgiving  Love  to 
many  hearts.  There  are  hundreds  of  us  who  will  never 
forget  Number  Fifty-Two  till  the  sods  rattle  down  above 
our  breasts. 

From  this  point  Mr.  Bisset's  proceedings  were  not  only 
singular  but  even  suspicious.  He  went  off  into  the  middle 
of  the  road  and  groped  about  in  the  thin  snow  till  he  had 
collected  a  handful  of  pebbles  the  size  of  peas.  These  he 
began  to  throw  up  at  the  range  of  unlighted  windows  with 
but  indifferent  success. 

''  Which  window  do  you  want  to  hit  ?"  said  Kit,  feeling 
that  here  at  last  was  something  that  he  could  do  better 
than  his  companion. 

"The  second  on  the  left  above  the  porch,"  said  the 
Lecturer. 

*^  Whose  house  is  this  ?"  said  Kit,  making  the  pebbles 
rap  regularly  on  the  glass  of  the  window  which  Mr.  Bisset 
had  designated. 

After  a  little  a  light  sprang  into  being  behind  the  blind. 
The  window  was  thrown  up,  and  a  face  appeared  dimly 
against  the  dark  behind. 


344  KIT    KENNEDY 

^'Well,  who  is  it  ?"  said  a  voice,  as  if  quite  accnstomed 
to  such  midnight  summonses.  "  Oh,  Bisset,  bless  you, 
man — come  up  directly  !  Here  is  the  key.  I  keep  it  tied 
to  a  string  on  purpose." 

*'I  can't  come  up,  Mr.  Strong,"  said  the  Lecturer.  '^I 
have  to  go  on  elsewhere.  There's  a  woman  and  her  chil- 
dren would  be  the  better  for  seeing  you.  So  I  came  along 
to  tell  you.  The  man  is  dying  or  dead.  He  was  one  of 
my  people.  But  the  wife  is  a  Christian  and  needs  you. 
Last  house  on  the  right  in  the  Tinkler's  Close  oS  the  Grass- 
market — you  know  the  place." 

''  All  right  !  I  know  it  !"  said  the  voice,  cheerily.  *'  I'll 
be  down  in  a  minute.     Any  use  taking  wine  and  things  ?" 

''None,"  returned  Mr.  Bisset,  "but  something  from  the 
poor's-box  would  not  come  wrong." 

Kit  and  his  friend  stamped  about  for  a  minute  or  two  in 
the  roadway  to  keep  the  blood  moving  in  their  veins.  Kit 
saw  Mr.  Strong  for  the  first  time  under  the  fanlight.  Then 
the  minister  came  out,  a  tall,  squarely-built  figure  with  a 
leonine  head  and  a  countenance  grave  and  kindly,  capa- 
ble, too,  of  kindling  into  an  Isaiah  fire  upon  occasion — a 
man  affectionate  in  private,  tender  of  heart  above  most, 
but  dangerous  to  cross  when  charged  with  his  message  and 
when  the  decks  were  cleared  for  action. 

"  Come  along,  Bisset — talk  to  me  as  we  go,"  said  Alex- 
ander Strong,  swinging  a  rough-checked  shepherd's  plaid 
about  his  shoulders  and  thumping  the  pavement  with  his 
unshod  staff.     "  But  who  is  this  with  you  ?" 

"Another  of  your  people,"  said  the  Lecturer,  " b,  lad 
from  the  country,  recently  come  to  the  city  with  a  bursary, 
a  clever  head,  and  an  ignorant  heart.  Let  him  come  and 
see  you.  You'll  do  him  no  harm.  He  has  a  father,  too, 
he  was  telling  me.    But  I  think  I  can  best  look  after  him." 

''Come  and  see  me  on  Saturday  about  lunch-time,  and 
we  will  have  a  talk.  That  is  my  hour  !"  said  Alexander 
Strong  to  Kit. 


THE    BROKEN    HINGES  345 

Then  to  the  Lecturer  he  said,  ''And  now  for  your 
friend's  wife.     What  had  we  best  do  for  her  ?" 

And  there  in  the  black  deej)s  of  the  night,  under  the 
canopy  of  the  drifting  snow,  the  Agnostic  Lecturer  and 
the  Christian  Teacher  conjointly  laid  their  plans  for  the 
helping  of  poor  human  creatures. 

In  this  fashion  they  came  again  to  the  cobbler's  house. 
Once  more  they  went  up  the  darksome  twists  of  the  stair, 
Alexander  Strong  trampling  between  them  with  his  vigor- 
ous hill  man's  stride. 

As  they  opened  the  door  they  heard  the  sound  of  a  wo- 
man sobbing.  The  cobbler's  wife  was  straightening  the 
limbs  of  the  man  who  had  been  her  husband. 

"He's  gane — my  Bartholomew's  gane  withoot  a  word!" 
said  the  woman.  "  Oh,  if  my  man  is  lost  because  of  un- 
belief, I  want  to  be  lost  too  !" 

"And  you  are  the  man  that  did  it,  too,"  she  cried  with 
sudden  fury,  turning  sharply  on  the  Lecturer.  Then  she 
saw  Alexander  Strong. 

He  came  forward  and  took  her  hand  gently.  Without 
a  word  he  went  across  the  floor  to  the  bed,  and  stood  a 
long  while  gazing  down  at  the  serene  face  of  the  dead. 

The  Infidel  Lecturer  drew  Kit  away,  and  as  they  closed 
the  door  they  heard  the  voice  of  the  Preacher  of  the  Gospel 
saying  gently,  "Fear  not  !  It  is  written,  'To  his  own  Lord 
he  standeth  or  falleth.  Yea,  he  shall  be  made  to  stand, 
for  the  Lord  hath  power  to  make  him  stand.'" 

And  his  hand  was  upraised  over  the  dead  face  as  if  in 
benediction. 

"Come  away  and  leave  them.  That  is  his  work,  not 
yours  or  mine !"  said  Mr.  Bisset  as  they  went  homeward. 

When  Kit  arrived  at  the  door  of  his  lodgings  he  found 
Mrs.  Christieson  still  out  of  bed.  He  expected,  and  per- 
haps deserved,  a  word  of  censure  for  his  late  hours.  But 
his  landlady  had  something  else  on  her  mind. 


346  KIT    KENNEDY 

"  Oh,  Maister  Kennedy,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  she  saw  him, 
*'sic  a  turn  up  as  there  has  been  here  since  ye  gaed  oot." 

She  paused  for  breath,  though  she  had  not  been  climb- 
ing the  stairs.  Then  she  went  on,  ''Maister  Grier  didna 
come  hame  till  eleven.  He  had  met  in  wi'  somebody 
frae  his  ain  countryside,  and  stayed  crackin'.  And  then 
there  cam'  a  tramplike  man  and  wad  be  in  to  see  you.  I 
said  him  nay,  but  he  wadna  be  said  nay  to.  And  faith, 
but  there  was  something  commandin'  aboot  the  craitur 
too.  Sae  I  took  him  ben,  thinkin'  that  every  minute  Mais- 
ter Grier  wad  be  back,  for  he  was  never  late  before.  I  gaed 
doon  to  the  baker's  to  get  the  loaf-bread  for  the  breakfast. 
The  stupid  body  hadna  sent  it.  And  wad  ye  believe  me, 
when  I  cam'  back  the  door  was  open  to  the  wa',  and  there 
wasna  a  soul  in  the  hoose.  Oh,  gang  and  see  that  a'  is 
richt !  For  I'll  no  sleej)  this  nicht  gin  ocht  has  been  ta'en 
through  my  fault." 

Kit  went  into  the  room  where  Rob  Grier  was  already  in 
bed  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  physically  tired  and  consti- 
tutionally healthy.  He  went  directly  to  his  little  desk. 
His  heart  stood  still  when  he  saw  that  it  had  been  burst 
apart  at  the  hinges.  He  unlocked  it  and  the  lid  fell  off. 
The  remaining  eighteen  pounds  of  his  Bursary  money  were 
gone  ! 

The  Universe  ran  round  and  round  as  he  stood  staring, 
and  had  he  not  grasped  the  back  of  a  chair  he  might  have 
fallen.     Nevertheless,  Kit  was  no  weakling. 

In  a  minute  he  had  gripped  himself,  and  walked  steadily 
to  the  door,  at  which  appeared  the  agitated  face  of  Mrs. 
Christieson. 

''  Was  the  man  who  asked  for  me  tall  and  thin,  with 
gray  hair  and  a  cut  across  the  forehead  ?"  he  asked. 

"That's  the  man,"  cried  Mrs.  Christieson,  much  re- 
lieved ;  "  and  bless  me,  sir,  when  I  look  at  ye,  he  raither 
favored  yoursel'.  Maybe  he  was  a  relative  ?  Then  ye  hae 
fand  a'  richt  in  your  room  !" 


THE    BROKEN    HINGES  347 

*'A11  is  right  —  perfectly  rights,  Mistress  Christieson, 
thank  you  I"  said  Kit  Kennedy. 

"  The  Lord  be  thankit  for  that^  for  I  was  afeared  woman 
this  nicht  !"  said  his  landlady,  as  she  closed  the  door. 

And  then  the  First  Galloway  Bursar  sat  down  amid  the 
ruins  of  his  prospects  to  think  what  he  should  do. 

He  could  not  stop  attending  his  classes  and  go  back  to 
service  because  he  had  taken  the  money  of  the  Societies, 
and  was  under  contract  to  finish  his  session  and  forward 
his  certificates  to  the  secretary. 

He  could  not  go  on  living  upon  Mrs.  Christieson  with 
no  prospect  of  paying  his  bills. 

Still  less  could  he  accuse  his  teacher,  his  benefactor — 
his  father,  of  the  theft.  If  he  had  taken  the  money,  he 
was  clearly  not  accountable  for  his  actions  any  more  than 
he  had  been  that  night  of  the  declaration  of  the  prize-win- 
ner, when  Kit  had  found  him  in  the  parlor  of  the  Blue 
Boar  in  Cairn  Edward. 

So,  throwing  his  plaid  about  his  shoulders,  and  putting 
down  the  gas  he  had  no  longer  the  right  to  waste.  Kit  Ken- 
nedy went  and  stood  in  the  window.  And  all  through  the 
watches  of  the  sombre  night  the  white  flurries  veered  and 
swirled,  and  the  lamj^  shadows  wavered  forlornly  across  the 
sidewalks  of  the  snow-shrouded  city. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

THE    PRETTY   GIKL   GROWS    PRACTICAL 

Kit  had  ten  days  before  him  during  which  to  make  good 
the  loss  of  his  bursary.  Then  he  must  settle  with  Mrs. 
Christieson  for  his  fortnight's  board  and  lodging.  His 
college  fees  were  paid,  so  that,  save  for  the  buying  of  class- 
books,  he  was  safe  in  that  direction.  But  in  ten  days  he 
would  be  more  than  a  pound  in  the  debt  of  the  honest 
woman,  while  all  that  remained  to  him  was  sixpence,  which 
he  discovered  in  the  corner  of  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day  before  Kit  saw 
his  father.  The  student  had  struggled  through  the  day 
somehow.  His  classes  had  hummed  themselves  away. 
Eob  Grier  had  propounded  starting  posers  on  the  rules  of 
Greek  composition,  which  Kit  had  answered  at  random. 

But  it  was  Professor  Aitchison  who  stung  him  into  a 
sort  of  temporary  interest,  and  that  more  on  acco.unt  of  his 
province  than  from  any  personal  feeling. 

Professor  Aitchison  embodied  patriotism  to  the  univer- 
sity. Picturesquely  Bohemian  himself,  he  encouraged  all 
manner  of  vagabondage  among  his  students.  If  these 
fortunate  youths  did  not  learn  much  Greek,  at  least  they 
never  forgot  their  acquaintance  with  that  fine,  impulsive, 
clean-thoughted,  noble  gentleman  Professor  Angus  Aitchi- 
son of  the  University  of  Edinburgh. 

But  without  doubt  the  man  of  genius  could  be  excessively 
trying  at  times. 

Entering  the  class-room  like  a  whirlwind,  he  was  half- 


THE    PRETTY   GIRL    GROWS    PRACTICAL  349 

way  tlirongh  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  Greek  before  the  men 
could  rise  from  their  seats.  Then  still  in  a  blind  hurry  he 
would  dash  into  the  subject  nearest  (for  the  time  being)  to 
his  big  bairnly  heart. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  unfortunately  come  without  my 
lecture  this  morning.  But  that  is  the  less  to  be  regretted 
that  I  find  in  this  morning's  Thistle  the  most  truly  diaboli- 
cal article,  sufficient  to  bring  a  Sodom-curse,  a  very  Go- 
morrah-brimstone-cloud upon  this  city.  I  will  now  make 
a  few  remarks  upon  the  Thistle-man  I" 

Then  Angus  Aitchison  waved  his  oaken  staff  round  his 
head  and  declaimed  for  forty  eloquent  minutes. 

When  he  had  calcined,  pulverized,  and  finally  dispersed 
the  Thistle  miscreant  he  would  return  to  his  class. 

"  Dear  me,  we  have  only  a  few  minutes  left.  Mr.  Fred 
Stewart,  what  do  you  mean  by  sitting  there  idle  all  the 
day  long  ?  You  are  an  unprofitable  servant,  sir  !  That's 
a  bad  translation,  but  a  good  fact.  Read  the  first  ten  lines 
of  our  lesson  for  the  day,  and  be  quick  about  it  !" 

This  morning  it  Avas  Kit  who,  at  ten  minutes  to  the  hour, 
was  called  upon  to  read  a  page  of  the  Iliad. 

Kit  translated  with  his  mind  upon  the  burst  hinges  of 
his  little  desk.     But  sheer  instinct  led  him  through. 

The  Professor  stopped  him. 

"You  are  translating  like  a  saw -mill,  Mr.  Kennedy. 
Yes,  with  about  as  much  heart  and  genius  as  a  saw-mill." 

Then  like  a  flash  came  the  question,  "Have  you  read 
my  translation  of  the  Iliad  into  ballad  measure  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Kit,  who  had  not  so  much  as  heard  of 
that  great  work. 

"No !"  cried  Angus  Aitchison,  throwing  back  his  head, 
"no  porridge-fed  Gallovidian  ever  read  anything  half  so 
good  as  my  translation  of  Homer.  Sit  down,  sir.  Mr. 
Fred  Stewart,  do  you  go  on." 

Kit  listened  to  the  laughter  of  the  class  with  a  curious 
detached  coolness. 


350  KIT    KENNEDY 

A  week  ago  he  wonld  have  blushed  and  subsided.  But 
he  was  both  older  and  wiser  now.  And  whether  he  re- 
mained at  college  or  went  back  to  the  plough-tail,  he  did 
not  purpose  to  be  called  "the  porridge-fed  Gallovidian  "  so 
long  as  one  stone  of  that  class  remained  upon  another. 

So  he  continued  to  stand  up. 

Fred  Stewart  was  half  tlirough  his  page  before  the  Pro- 
fessor noticed  Kit  still  on  his  feet.  He  was  declaiming  a 
noble  speech  and  marking  the  time  with  his  hand  as  he 
trampled  his  way  pridefully  through  the  sonorous  poly- 
syllables. 

"  Sit  down,  sir.  Sit  down  !"  he  cried.  "  What  are  you 
waiting  for  T' 

"I  am  waiting  for  your  apology,  Professor  Aitchison," 
said  Kit,  calmly. 

"  My  apology— mine — what — why  ?" 

Halted  in  full  career,  Angus  Aitchison  rose  to  his  feet 
and  stooped  in  a  thunder-cloud  of  black  gown  and  silvery 
hair  from  the  rostrum  upon  Kit. 

"  Your  apology  for  calling  me  a  '  porridge  -  fed  Gallo- 
vidian,' sir  I" 

And  Kit  kept  his  stand,  respectful  but  determined. 

Then  that  very  fine  gentleman  Angus  Aitchison  ap- 
proved himself  greatly.  He  dropped  in  a  moment  the 
outer  cloak  of  eccentricity,  and  rose  to  the  height  of  his 
own  true  heart. 

"  Did  I  call  you  that  ?  I  had  no  right  to  call  any  man 
that.     I  do  beg  your  pardon  most  heartily,  Mr.  Kennedy." 

Then  the  Professor  bowed  to  his  student  as  the  cheers 
of  the  class  rang  out. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  he  continued,  "will  you  do 
me  the  honor  to  breakfast  with  me  to-morrow  morning:  ?" 

Verily  it  was  a  training  in  high-mindedness  to  sit  under 
two  such  men  as  Jupiter  Olympus,  Professor  of  Humanity, 
and  Angus  Aitchison,  Professor  of  Greek  in  the  University 
of  Edinburgh.    Prom  them  the  students  learned  everything 


THE    PRETTY    GIRL   GROWS    PRACTICAL  351 

but  roots.     And  these  they  could  acquire  well  enough  from 
a  couple  of  assistants  at  £100  a  year  apiece. 

As  Kit  returned  from  college,  the  loss  of  his  money 
aching  in  his  heart  without  remission,  he  met  his  father  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  which  led  to  liis  lodgings. 

The  "  Orra  Man "  was  now  dressed  in  a  black  frock 
coat,  which  buttoned  tightly  about  his  spare  form,  gray 
trousers,  and  well-made  boots.  His  linen  was  clean,  and 
the  slight  misfit  conveyed  no  more  than  an  impression  that 
the  wearer  had  been  long  ill,  and  had  not  again  grown 
familiar  with  his  own  apparel. 

'*  Will  you  come  up  ?"  said  Kit,  and  led  the  way  up  the 
grimy  stair. 

The  Classical  Master  followed,  so  completely  altered 
that  Mrs.  Christieson,  at  gaze  round  the  edge  of  the  kitch- 
en door,  failed  to  recognize  in  the  pale  scholar  of  the  after- 
noon the  dreaded  tramp  of  the  night  before. 

When  they  reached  the  fifth  floor  room  these  two  stood 
looking  at  each  other  squarely. 

"  I  missed  you  last  night,"  said  the  elder,  "  but  I  am 
not  sorry,  for  we  will  talk  more  soberly  and  fitly  to-day." 

"  He  does  not  remember  !"  said  the  son.  And  in  his 
sick  heart  he  rejoiced. 

"  Kit,"  said  the  Classical  Master,  sitting  down  and  look- 
ing across  at  his  son,  "  I  did  not  intend  to  tell  you  last 
night.  It  was  perhaps  ill-judged  and  wrong,  but  the 
words  sprang  from  me  unawares.  They  are  true  words. 
I  am  your  father,  and  because  you  know  that,  my  life  shall 
begin  newly  from  to-day.  Or  else  I  will  not  live  it  at  all. 
I  met  a  man  this  morning  who  put  the  matter  clearly.  I 
knew  him  when  I  was  a  lad  at  Sandhaven.  He  is  a  friend 
of  yours — Bisset,  a  city  missionary,  I  think." 

"Yes,"  said  Kit,  "a  kind  of  missionary." 

The  Classical  Master  went  on  without  appearing  to  hear. 

"  Now  I  see  clearly  that  if  I  cannot  use  life  well,  at  least 
it  lies  within  my  power  not  to  misuse  it  to  the  hurt  of 


352  KIT    KENNEDY 

others.  More  than  that,  Mr.  Bisset  has  put  me  in  the  way 
of  earning  my  bread  honestly.  I  am  to  have  three  hours 
coaching  every  day  at  a  crammer's,  which  will  leave  me 
time  to  look  after  your  work  also." 

The  eager  look  had  come  back  to  the  eyes  of  the  "  Orra 
Man."  Once  more  the  eternal  hope  was  dawning  for 
him,  and  Christopher  Kennedy,  B.A.,  was  as  keen  as  ever 
on  the  scent  of  the  ideal.  He  picked  up  an  exercise  which 
lay  on  the  table. 

"Pshaw!"  he  said,  "wooden  —  wooden.  We  must  do 
better  than  this.  Kit.  Where  were  you  in  the  last  class- 
examination  ?" 

"Fourth  !"  said  Kit,  hanging  his  head. 

"And  first  at  the  entrance — that  will  never  do.  There 
has  been  slackness  somewhere.  We  will  change  all  that. 
I  am  free  at  six.  Expect  me  to-morrow,  as  soon  after  that 
as  I  can  get  lodgings.     I  bid  you  good-bye  now." 

He  paused  on  the  stairs  and  beckoned  Kit  to  approach. 

"One  word,"  he  said,  softening  his  voice.  "You  are 
not  altogether  in  want  of  money,  I  hope  ?  I  happen  to  be 
temporarily  in  funds." 

"I  am  not  in  need  of  money,"  said  his  son,  lying  to  his 
father  with  a  clear  and  steady  eye. 

And  then  with  jaunty  carriage  and  alert  air  the  Clas- 
sical Master  went  down  the  stair.  He  regarded  the  public- 
houses  with  a  proud  look.  He  even  walked  twice  past  the 
first,  smelling  with  disgust  the  mingled  odor  of  bad  tobacco 
and  stale  beer  which  trailed  out  from  its  open  door. 

"  Thank  God,  that  is  done  with  !"  he  said. 

Kit  breakfasted  next  morning  with  Professor  Aitchison, 
and  had  it  proven  to  him,  as  it  were  out  of  the  whirlwind, 
that  Gaelic  was  the  first  language  in  the  world,  that  Greek 
came  next,  that  English  was  not  a  language  at  all,  that  a 
song  was  better  than  a  sermon,  that  Episcopacy  might  be 
the  religion  of  a  gentleman,  but  that  Presbytery  was  the 


THE   PRETTY  GIRL   GROAVS    PRACTICAL  353 

religion  for  a  man — and,  lastly,  that  personal  vanity  was 
the  only  deadly  sin. 

He  went  away  in  the  clear,  brisk  snnlight  of  the  winter 
forenoon,  carrying  with  him  a  Avarmth  about  the  heart 
Avhich  lasted  all  day  from  the  mere  contact  of  Angus 
Aitchison,  gentleman,  scholar,  poet — and  play-actor. 

And  it  says  much  for  his  entertainment  that  he  was  half 
a  mile  from  the  plain  little  house  at  the  corner  of  Freder- 
ick Street  before  he  remembered  the  dark  cloud  which  had 
shut  so  suddenly  down  upon  his  soul. 

Kit  was  naturally  reticent  of  trouble.  He  called  on  the 
Reverend  Alexander  Strong,  who  sat  in  his  study  with  a 
paper-covered  volume  of  Barbera's  Dante  in  his  hand.  A 
cup  of  cold  tea  was  at  his  elbow,  and  his  feet  were  on  the 
table. 

''Ah,  I  have  been  expecting  you — I  thought  you  would 
never  come,"  cried  the  minister,  heartily.  "  Do  you  smoke  ? 
No  !  It  is  a  bad  habit.  I  am  going  to  give  it  up — ah,  next 
week. " 

And  he  lighted  a  black  and  polished  clay  as  he  spoke, 
shifting  a  red  coal  dexterously  between  his  fingers  aud 
looking  calmly  at  Kit  all  the  while. 

Tlie  house  in  Melville  Street,  occupied  by  Alexander 
Strong  as  a  kind  of  barracks,  impressed  Kit  with  a  curious 
sense  of  brotherhood.  He  felt  instinctively  that  it  was  all 
the  same  to  this  man  whether  he  was  a  chimney-sweep  or 
the  owner  of  millions,  famous  or  infamous,  witty  or  stupid, 
saint  or  convict.  At  best  and  worst  he  was  a  brother  to 
Alexander  Strong,  and — he  had  a  soul  to  be  saved. 

But  the  minister  did  not  ask  him  to  come  to  church. 
He  did  not  even  recommend  his  Bible-class.  He  had  no 
panacea  save  the  strong,  comfortable  shake  of  his  right 
hand.  He  talked  gravely  and  confidentially  of  books  and 
men  and  things,  and  having  asked  Kit's  opinion,  he  con- 
sidered his  reply,  not  as  a  compliment,  but  respectfully, 
and  as  equally  worthy  of  attention  with  his  own. 

23 


354  KIT    KENNEDY 

As  they  went  down  the  stairs  the  minister  put  his  hand 
on  Kit's  shoulder. 

"You  are  a  bursar,  I  hear,  as  I  was,"  he  said,  "so  you 
won't  want  money  yet.  But  if  you  do,  you  Icnow  where  to 
come.  You  would  probably  like  better  to  take  a  lift  from 
a  poor  man  like  me  than  from  any  one  else." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Kit,  choking  a  little  ;  "  I  don't  know 
why  you  should  say  that  to  me.  But  I  am  not  in  want  of 
money." 

"  Very  well  !"  said  the  minister,  "  but  all  the  same 
don't  forget  if  the  thing  should  happen." 

But  the  pride  which  the  scholar-gentleman  and  the  man- 
and-brother  could  not  overcome  was  broken  down  by  a  girl. 

Dick  Bisset  looked  in  early  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day 
after  the  supper  at  Sponton's. 

"Good  biz  that  you  did  bring  Mary  home  last  night," 
he  said  ;  "  her  chief  came  along,  and  if  he  had  found  out 
she  wasn't  at  the  Hospital,  it  would  have  given  away  the 
whole  blooming  show.  But  it  is  all  right.  He's  gone  on 
Mary  no  end,  and  I  tell  her  she  had  better  marry  him  and 
have  done  with  it — position,  tin,  and  all  that.  But  there's 
no  hurry.  Let  her  have  her  fling  first  like  yours  truefully, 
Kichard  Bisset." 

Kit  said  nothing.  His  heart  could  not  well  be  sorer. 
He  fingered  a  slim  Tacitus,  red-covered  and  with  "  Capio 
lumen  "  upon  it.  With  all  his  soul  he  wished  Dick  Bisset 
would  go. 

"Say,  Kennedy,"  cried  that  hero,  suddenly,  "  do  yon 
want  to  get  on  to  a  winner  ?  I  can  put  you  straight.  A 
sov.  will  do  it.  I  tell  you  I  copped  a  quid  or  two  yester- 
day that  the  old  man  don't  know  of.  It  takes  it  all  to  go 
the  pace.  Best  girls  aren't  run  on  soft  sawder  these 
days  !" 

Here  Rob  Grier  trampled  in,  and,  with  a  brief  nod  to 
Dick,  and  taking  no  notice  at  all  of  Kit,  he  pitched  his 
wet  hat  on  the  sofa  and  drew  in  a  chair  to  his  books. 


THE    PRETTY   GIRL   GROWS    PRACTICAL   355 

''Well,  so-long,  Kennedy;  you're  going  to  be  lively,  I 
can  see,"  said  Dick,  "  so  am  I.  I  wish  you  joy  of  '  Hocus- 
pocns-saveloy-saj)' !" 

And  he  laughed — for,  strangely  enough,  Dick  consid- 
ered this  funny. 

''  The  examination's  only  a  Aveek  off  now,"  said  Rob 
Grier,  Avith  a  kind  of  entreaty  in  his  voice ;  "you  are  go- 
ing to  stop  in  and  work,  aren't  you  ?" 

"No,"  said  Kit,  "  I  feel  curiously  unsettled  to-night.  I 
think  I  shall  go  for  a  walk." 

Rob  Grier  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  a  sort  of 
darkly  angry  look  on  his  plain,  strong  face. 

"  Now  I  tell  you,  Kit  Kennedy,"  he  said,  dourly  nodding 
his  head,  "  you  had  a  long  Avay  the  start  of  me.  But  if 
you  don't  look  out  I'm  going  to  come  in  ahead." 

"AH  right,"  answered  Kit,  smiling  sadly;  "I  for  one 
shall  not  be  sorry." 

"  No,"  thundered  Rob  the  Smith  of  Garlics,  "  you  won't 
be  sorry !  Who  said  you  would  ?  You  haven't  enough 
sense.  But  there's  an  old  man  down  in  Galloway  that  you 
told  me  Avas  breaking  Avhin-stones  on  the  roadside  for  your 
sake,  and  thinking  of  you  as  he  cracked  every  one.  He'll 
be  sorry.  And  you've  got  a  mother,  haven't  you  ?  And 
if  you  are  the  man  I  take  you  for,  there's  a  girl  somcAvhere 
that'll  be  sorry.  Besides  (he  Avas  speaking  truculently 
now)  I  don't  Avant  to  have  to  doctor  the  certificates  that 
I  send  in  to  that  Secretary-duck  over  in  St.  Andrew's 
Square.  I  Avant  the  credit  for  Avhat  I  do.  And  I  shan't 
take  it  unless  you  are  before  me,  as  you  ought  to  be.  So 
noAV,  there's  for  you  !" 

Kit  started  up  and  held  out  his  hand.  The  ex-black- 
smith gripped  it  in  a  vice. 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said,  the  anger  cooling  out  of  his 
voice,  "but  Avhat's  up  anyAvay  ?  You  are  striking  off  the 
iron  somehow.  You  can't  have  got  through  all  your 
money  ?     Any  bad  ncAvs  from  home  ?" 


356  KIT    KENNEDY 

"  No,-"'  said  Kit,  "  it's  all  right." 

Eob  Grier  shook  his  head. 

"  You  are  a  dour  dog,"  he  said  ;  "  you  won't  tell  me,  of 
course.  Now  mind  yon,  I  haven't  much,  but  if  you  are  in 
a  hole — well,  ye  ken  Rob  Grier  by  this  time." 

And  Kit  rose  quickly  and  went  out,  for  the  kindness 
that  ringed  him  round  made  him  afraid  of  that  bugbear  of 
youth — the  making  a  fool  of  himself. 

Kit  ran  down-stairs.  It  was  a  dank,  softish  night,  with 
greasy  pavements  and  an  unfulfilled  promise  of  the  frost 
breaking  up.  The  wind,  Avhich  since  the  morning  had 
been  sweeping  streets  clean  of  snow,  had  died  away,  and 
the  city  was  full  of  the  damp  exhalations  of  steaming 
tramway  horses  and  sodden,  half-slaked  ash-bins. 

Kit  turned  moodily  into  the  current  of  the  main  southern 
thoroughfare.  There  is  a  tide  along  it  which  runs  strongly 
north  all  the  forenoon,  and  as  strongly  back  again  in  the 
late  afternoon  and  evening.  He  was  breasting  its  later 
flood  now,  and  the  sight  of  the  lighted  shops  and  garish 
shows  of  Christmas  cards  in  the  news-agents'  windows 
jarred  upon  him.  The  world  was  very  black  just  then, 
and  Kit  withdrew  himself  deeper  into  his  own  soul. 

It  was  when  passing  the  barred  and  ballustered  front  of 
the  Surgeons'  Hall,  where  he  had  first  met  Mary  Bisset, 
that  something  in  front  of  him  caused  him  to  lift  his 
head.  Hitherto  he  had  been  looking  at  the  ground  and 
mechanically  avoiding  the  passers-by.  But  now  he  looked 
up  alertly. 

For  there,  not  a  score  of  yards  from  him,  was  the  Pretty 
Girl  marching  along  with  a  little  sheaf  of  books  under  her 
arm  caught  in  an  elastic  band.  She  was  carrying  herself, 
thought  Kit,  with  even  more  than  her  usual  inimitable 
lightness.  He  stopped  and  held  out  his  hand.  She  began 
at  once  to  tell  him  how  Mr.  Cathcart  had  waited  till  her 
mother  was  deadly  weary,  and  had  even  disgraced  herself 
by  yawning  in  his  face.     But  Kit  did  not  answer.     He 


THE    PRETTY    GIRL   GROWS    PRACTICAL  357 

only  turned  and  walked  slowly  back  with  the  girl,  as  if  it 
were  a  settled  and  accepted  thing  that  ho  should  do  so. 

Presently  Mary  Bisset  stayed  the  current  of  her  glad- 
some gossip.  "  What  is  the  matter,  Kit?"  she  said,  look- 
ing intently  into  his  face. 

'•'Nothing,'"'  asserted  Kit,  more  gloomily  than  before. 

Mary  smiled  a  little  private  smile  confined  to  the  side  of 
her  face  farthest  from  her  companion.  She  thought  that 
he  was  sulky  about  the  visit  of  Mr.  Cathcart.  And  being 
a  sensible  girl  she  was  not  a  bit  sorry  that  he  should  feel 
that  way  about  the  matter. 

''It  will  do  him  good,"  she  said  to  herself;  "they  are 
all  apt  to  take  things  too  easily." 

It  is  curious  that  she  never  thought  of  connecting  Kit's 
gloom  with  the  man  who  had  claimed  him  for  a  son,  after 
stopping  them  both  at  the  door  of  the  Elysium. 

To  Mary  Bisset,  innocently  conscious  of  her  own  attrac- 
tiveness and  of  Kit's  admiration,  only  one  subject  appeared 
likely  to  influence  his  moods. 

At  last  Kit  burst  out. 

"  This  is  good-bye,"  he  said. 

"  Good-bye  !"  faltered  Mary  Bisset ;  then  Avith  a  slight 
smile  she  continued,  "You  are  angry  with  me— you  are 
joking  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Kit,  blurting  out  his  trouble  at  last,  and 
glad  to  be  done  with  it.  "  I  am  disgraced,  whatever  I  do. 
I  have  lost  my  bursary  money.  It  was  stolen  out  of  my 
desk  late  last  night.  I  cannot  stay  at  college  and  run 
more  deeply  into  debt.  Yet  I  have  to  send  my  certificates 
to  the  secretary  because  I  have  taken  their  money." 

As  he  spoke  Mary  Bisset's  face  grew  pale,  and  her  sweet 
lips  fell  pitifully  away  from  each  other. 

"But  why,"  said  she,  breathlessly,  "why  do  you  not 
apply  to  the  police  ?" 

Kit  smiled  grimly,  thinking  neither  of  his  sweetheart 
nor  yet  of  her  words,  but  of  his  own  sick  heart. 


358  KIT    KENNEDY 

"  Because  the  only  two  who  entered  my  room  were  my 
own  friend  Eob  Gricr  and — and  my  fatlier !  That  is  the 
reason." 

"Your  father!"  cried  Mary,  incredulously;  "the  man 
Avhom  we  saw  at  the  music  hall  —  he  was  really  your 
father  ?" 

"I  have  no  choice  but  to  believe  so,"  answered  Kit. 

As  Kit  spoke  they  had  been  nearing  the  defile  of  houses, 
down  which  they  were  wont  to  turn  in  order  to  reach  their 
homes. 

Mary  touched  Kit's  arm. 

"  Don't  let  us  go  in  yet,"  she  said  ;  "  let  us  walk  across 
the  Meadows  and  talk  it  all  over !" 

Kit,  wrapped  in  his  trouble,  gloomily  acquiesced.  It  had 
begun  to  rain  a  little,  and  Mary  Bisset  wanted  to  pick  up 
her  skirts  before  venturing  through  the  grimy  needle's  eye 
of  Archer's  Hall. 

"Will  you  hold  my  umbrella  for  me  ?"  she  said,  glanc- 
ing up  at  Kit. 

Kit  reached  a  hand  for  the  closely  enwrapped,  lady-like 
article  of  protection,  which  he  held  like  a  toy.  He  himself 
walked  brow  forward  in  all  weathers  and  took  the  rains  of 
heaven  as  they  fell.  But  the  girl's  practical  words  awoke 
him  out  of  his  selfish  sorrow. 

He  held  the  umbrella  over  Mary's  head. 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  mind,"  as  he  spoke  he  stumbled  in 
his  speech;  "why  should  you  care  that  I  am  ruined — dis- 
graced ?" 

He  said  the  last  word  with  a  sort  of  sob.  He  thought  of 
going  back  to  his  mother  and  those  Avho  had  been  so  proud 
of  him.  The  white  flag  would  still  be  flying  on  the  pine- 
tree  on  the  lochside  slope,  and  he  knew  that  his  mother 
would  look  towards  it  at  morn  and  even. 

Mary  Bisset's  lips  were  pressed  closely  together  now. 
They  denoted  a  kind  of  womanly  determination  equally 
foreign  to  the  soft  childish  curves  of  her  cheek  and  to  the 


THE    PRETTY    GIRL    GROWS    PRACTICAL  359 

sweetness  of  her  eyes.  She  was  rather  longer  tlian  she 
need  have  been  in  setting  the  swing  of  her  skirts  to  her 
mind.  For  there  Avas  that  in  her  eyes  which  Mary  did  not 
care  to  trust  even  to  the  gloomy  November  night.  Then 
at  Last  she  laid  her  hand  on  Kit's  arm  and  drew  him  away 
to  the  right,  along  the  little  walk  through  the  Meadows, 
with  the  bare  boughs  dripping  overhead  and  the  lights  of 
the  city  winking  mist-blurred  through  a  pale  bluish  haze. 

■"^Kit  Kennedy,"  she  said,  sharply,  "you  call  yourself  a 
man,  yet  you  are  ready  to  give  in  at  the  first  obstacle.  I 
have  been  going  to  speak  to  you  for  some  time.  I  am  glad 
the  chance  has  come  now.  You  have  been  taking  things 
far  too  easily.  You  tried  for  a  bursary.  You  won  it. 
And  —  well,  you  have  done  nothing  since.  I  know,  for 
there  is  one  of  our  teachers  attending  your  classes." 

''Mr.  Cathcart  !"  said  Kit,  gloomily. 

"No — not  Mr.  Cathcart,"  Mary  went  on,  "but  it  does 
not  matter  if  it  were  Mr.  Cathcart.  The  thing  is  so.  And 
I  dared  not  tell  you.  But  now,  when  you  speak  of  meanly 
giving  up — why,  I  can  speak,  and  I  will." 

"AVhat  can  I  do  ?"'  said  Kit,  who  was  becoming  a  little 
sulky.  He  had  not  been  so  spoken  to  ever  since  he  began 
to  think  well  of  himself. 

"Why,  at  the  very  first  check  you  would  cast  all  to  the 
winds.  I  tell  you,  Christopher  Kennedy,"  she  flashed 
round  upon  him  so  swiftly  that  Kit  stopped.  The  pretty 
girl  stood  fronting  him,  one  small  gloved  finger  pressed 
peremptorily  into  the  palm  of  the  other  hand,  with  the 
action  she  nsed  when  emphasizing  a  fact  to  a  stubborn 
class  (and  the  inspection  day  was  near).  "I  tell  you 
plainly,  I  am  twice  the  man  you  are.  You  think  I  am  only 
a  girl,  and  in  one  way  I  am.  But  I  have  kept  myself  and 
helped  my  father  and  mother  with  the  rent  ever  since  I 
was  thirteen.  Then  they  would  not  take  me  as  a  pupil 
teacher,  because  my  father  was  an  Infidel  Lecturer.  But 
I  became  a  pupil  teacher  all  the  same.     Parents  would  not 


360  KIT    KENNEDY 

send  their  children  to  be  taught  by  me  for  the  same  reason. 
They  took  them  from  school.  I  went  and  saw  them — and 
— the  children  came  back  again.  Then  I  could  not  be  ad- 
mitted to  the  training  colleges  here  because  they  were  de- 
nominational. I  went  alone  to  London  at  seventeen  and 
got  through  my  two  years  there.  With  worse  than  no  in- 
fluence I  gained  an  assistantship  in  a  school  where  influ- 
ence does  nearly  everything." 

Mary  was  talking  swiftly  now,  still  standing  in  front  of 
Kit.  Both  of  them  had  forgotten  all  else.  And  more 
than  one  passer-by  turned  and  smiled  at  the  tableau.  Kit, 
a  tall,  awkward  lad,  stood  holding  an  umbrella  over  his 
own  head,  while  this  slender,  emphatic  little  person  dem- 
onstrated fiercely  into  the  palm  of  her  gloved  hand. 

"A  lovers'  quarrel!"  they  said  to  themselves,  and  re- 
tailed the  matter  as  a  joke  at  their  cosy  tea-tables  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Meadows. 

Kit  was  dumb  before  Mary's  outbreak.  Yet  even  in  the 
turmoil  of  his  thoughts  he  could  not  help  being  stimulated 
and  quickened.  Mainly,  however,  he  was  thinking  how 
pretty  she  looked.  The  light  of  one  of  the  rare  lamps  fell 
directly  upon  her  piquant  face  and  flashing  eyes.  The 
sweetness  seemed  gone  from  these  last,  and  in  its  place 
there  was  such  a  flashing  contempt  for  cowardice,  such  an 
ardency  of  resolve,  so  pronounced  a  snap  and  glitter  of 
belligerence,  that  Kit  could  do  nothing  but  stare. 

"  You  are  lovely  !"  he  stammered,  as  if  ignorant  that  he 
was  speaking  at  all. 

Mary  Bisset  stamped  her  foot. 

"Pshaw,"  she  cried,  ''that  proves  it.  I  speak  to  you 
for  your  good.  I  tell  you  my  heart  as  I  have  not  done  to 
my  own  father,  and  you  have  nothing  to  answer  but  that ! 
Did  I  not  tell  you  that  I  was  twice  the  man  you  were  ? 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Kit  Kennedy." 

But  all  the  same,  because  no  woman  can  stand  and  look 
at  the  admiration  in  the  eyes  of  a  man  who — well,  who  is 


THE    PRETTY    GIRL    GROWS    PRACTICAL   3G1 

worth  taking  the  trouble  with  that  Mary  Bisset  was  taking 
Avith  Kit,  the  sliarpness  oozed  out  of  her  deckimation, 
though  the  earnestness  remained. 

After  all,  Mary  Bisset  was  a  pretty  girl  as  well  as  a  very 
practical  person.     And  she  knew  her  merit  on  both  scores. 

But  she  was  not  going  to  be  less  practical  because  Kit 
admired  her,  and  because  even  in  the  midst  of  her  tonic 
indignation  she  could  see  (as  it  were)  her  own  quite  satis- 
factory person  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  Kit's  eyes.  Still, 
Mary  was  conscious  that  she  ought  to  have  been  annoyed, 
and  this  made  her  more  than  ever  determined  that  Kit 
should  pay  for  the  feeling. 

*^  And  now,"  she  said,  with  a  vicious  snap  of  her  white 
and  regular  teeth,  "  instead  of  standing  up  to  trouble  like 
a  man,  you  would  basely  turn  your  back  on  it  as  soon  as 
the  wind  blows.  You  mean  to  disappoint  your  friends 
and  break  their  hearts,  to  rejoice  your  enemies — and — I 
shall  be  sorry.  I  am  sorry  now — that  is,  unless  you  have 
something  more  in  you  than  running  away." 

Kit  had  thought  specially  well  of  himself  in  this  matter. 
He  had  hidden  his  trouble  successfully  from  his  father, 
from  Mr.  Strong,  from  Rob  Grier.  Hitherto  his  con- 
science had  continuously  applauded  itself.  But  this  was 
decidedly  looking  at  the  matter  from  a  new  standpoint. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?"  said  Kit,  yet  more  mournfully. 

"  First,  give  me  a  share  of  my  own  umbrella,"  said 
Mary,  still  indignant,  "  and  then  walk  along  like  a  reason- 
able being." 

But  within  herself  she  was  saying,  "  I  am  doing  it  all 
for  his  good." 

Which  process  is  rarely  pleasant  for  the  beneficiary. 

^'Dof  said  Mary,  suddenly  losing  patience  as  the  help- 
lessness of  Kit's  question  came  back  to  her  mind,  "well, 
first  of  all — try.  What  does  your  companion  do — teach  in 
the  evenings.  Why  cannot  you  ?  Get  some  work  to  do 
out  of  college  hours.     Your  preparation,  by  your  own  ac- 


3G2  KIT    KENNEDY 

count,  does  not  take  so  much  of  yonr  time.  My  father  will 
get  you  some,  if  you  are  not  too  proud  to  take  what  turns  up." 

"God  knows  I  am  not  proud,'"  said  Kit  Kennedy,  ear- 
nestly. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mary,  relenting  a  little,  ''I  am  sure 
you  will  do  very  well.  And  you  will  never  speak  any  more 
of  going  away  or  giving  up  college  ?  Now  we  must  go 
home.  They  will  be  wondering  where  I  am.  And  besides 
(as  if  the  state  of  tlie  elements  had  occurred  to  her  for  the 
first  time)  it  is  raining  and  my  hat  is  soaking.  More  than 
that,  I  have  talked  to  you  as  no  girl  ought  to  do.  And 
they  were  quite  right  to  try  to  stop  me  teaching  in  the 
schools.  For  I  never  do  what  I  ought.  But  all  the  same, 
they  did  not." 

Thus  Mary  talked  on  as  they  left  the  twinkling  gloom 
and  converging  lamps  of  the  Meadows  alone  in  the  misty 
''haar."*  She  did  not  want  Kit  to  say  any  more.  She 
could  see  perilous  things  —  things  for  which  she  was  not 
ready,  things  which  were  better  unsaid  for  the  present — 
hovering  in  his  eyes  and  trembling  upon  his  tongue. 

They  got  to  the  foot  of  the  stair.  Kit  paused  to  take 
down  the  umbrella. 

"Mary,"  he  began,  in  a  thick,  suppressed  voice,  speak- 
ing with  more  than  his  old  difficulty. 

"Good-night,"  she  said,  lightly,  "there  is  my  father 
waiting  for  me.  But  you  are  not  going  to  keep  my  um- 
brella to  yourself  now,  if  you  have  done  so  all  the  time 
we  have  been  coming  home.  Deliver  it  up !  And  mind 
what  I  have  said  to  you !" 

So  with  a  flash  of  admonitory  finger,  and  a  kind  glance 
which  she  left  Kit  as  a  salve  to  his  feelings,  she  tripped 
up  the  steps,  leaving  the  young  man  standing  limp  and 
dazed  by  the  greasy  lintel  of  the  common  stair. 

*  Haar,  i.e.,  the  soul-chilling,  body-freezing,  easterly  mist  off  the 
German  Ocean. 


THE    PRETTY    GIRL    GROWS    PRACTICAL  3G3 

"  Why/' said  Kit  to  himself  after  a  long  pause,  "  I  thought 
she  was  only  a  girl  !" 

But  at  that  moment  Mary  Bisset,  Avho  after  all  was 
only  a  girl,  or  at  most  only  a  woman,  was  lying  on  her 
little  white  bed  with  her  face  to  the  pillow. 

"Oh,  what  shall  I  do — what  shall  I  do  ?"  she  was  saying 
in  accents  that  were  sobs.  These  are  words  that  do  not 
vary  with  rank  or  age,  wisdom  or  experience,  when  women 
are  in  trouble. 

The  only  difference  is  that  after  the  storm  is  overpast 
some  do  know  what  to  do,  and  upon  such  descends  a  time 
of  clear  shining  after  rain.  And  Mary  Bisset  was  of  those 
who  do  not  spend  long  in  fruitless  mourning.  For  by  the 
time  her  mother  came  knocking  at  the  door  she  had  risen, 
dabbed  her  eyes  twice  with  eau  de  cologne,  and  begun  to 
make  up  her  mind  for  a  second  and  more  bitter  interview. 
For  as  yet  only  the  easier  part  of  her  work  was  done. 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

MARY   IMPROVES    DICK'S   ARITHMETIC 

"  Dick,  I  want  you  !" 

''All  right — plenty  of  time,  I'm  getting  np,"  grumbled 
the  voice  of  Dick  Bisset  from  the  little  corner  room  which 
he  occupied  next  Mary's.  Then  he  lowered  his  tones, 
"  Mary,  go  into  the  kitchen  like  a  good  girl  and  get  a  fel- 
low some  baking-soda  without  letting  father  see  you.  I 
was  on  an  awful  tear  last  night,  and  I've  a  head  on  me  as 
big  as  the  Castle  Rock  !" 

Mary  did  as  she  was  asked.  Her  father  had  already  gone 
out.  Her  mother  was  putting  the  finishing  -  touches  to 
breakfast. 

"  Dick  will  need  more  than  soda,"  Mary  remarked  to 
herself,  "when  I  have  done  with  him." 

"  Now  be  quick  ;  I'm  all  ready  for  school  and  I  want  to 
speak  to  you  in  the  parlor  !" 

Dick  groaned  audibly  within  his  locked  chamber  door. 

''It's  no  use  taking  trouble  with  me,  old  girl,"  he  said; 
"  I  am  not  your  sort — nor  yet  father's.  But,  I  say,  I  must 
have  had  a  grandfather  who  made  things  hum  in  his  time, 
though  I" 

The  last  sentence  he  confided  to  his  mirror,  in  which  he 
regarded  his  swollen  and  discolored  face,  his  pale,  watery 
eyes,  and  closely  cropped  reddish  hair. 

"Dick,  you're  not  an  Adonis,''  he  admitted,  shaking  his 
head;  "it's  well  you  are  smart,  and  can  get  the  rhino 
together  where  another  would  starve.  Or  Violet,  good  girl 
as  she  is,  would  never  look  at  you  for  your  beauty." 


MARY    IMPROVES    DICK'S    ARITHMETIC  365 

Meanwhile  Mury  Bisset  was  walking  up  and  down  swiftly 
in  the  chill  of  the  tireless  parlor.  It  was  the  early  morn- 
ing of  a  northern  winter  and  gray  with  the  usual  dampish 
haze.  The  streets  gleamed  a  little  and  the  pavements  aji- 
peared  brighter  than  the  gloomy  sky.  A  stray  light  or 
two  blinked  belatedly  in  the  otherwise  blank  front  of  the 
houses  and  was  reflected  on  the  greasy  pavements.  A 
policeman  drew  his  cloak  closer  about  his  shoulders  and 
looked  eagerly  out  for  his  relief.  He  smelt  many  break- 
fasts and  stamped  his  feet.  Shutters  were  rattling  end- 
wise on  the  flags,  being  clattered  into  bundles  and  made 
to  disappear  swiftly  behind  shop-doors.  A  maid  with  an 
untidy  "bang"  low  on  her  forehead  Avas  sweeping  out  the 
baker's  shop  opposite.  The  policeman  looked  over  at  her 
with  a  friendly  expression.  But  she  slammed  the  door  and 
went  in.  She  despised  policemen.  She  hoped  she  was  a 
step  above  that.  She  was  engaged  (or  the  next  thing  to 
it)  to  a  clerk  in  an  office  at  eight  shillings  a  week. 

Mary  had  a  book  in  her  hand,  and  was  supposed  to  be 
looking  over  her  lesson  for  the  day.  Half  a  dozen  note- 
books, roll-books,  and  bundles  of  exercises,  blotted  and 
scrawled,  but  interlincated  in  red  with  her  own  neat  and 
business-like  writing,  lay  under  the  broad  india-rubber 
band  which  she  used  to  keep  them  together  on  her  way  to 
school. 

Presently  Dick  came  in  grumbling.  He  rubbed  his  hands 
together. 

'•'Beastly  cold/'  he  muttered.  "Say,  old  girl,  spit  it 
out  quick  !  Get  it  up  ofl'  your  mind  wliatever  it  is,  and 
let's  get  into  the  Christmas  fireside.  This  sort  of  thing 
don't  conduce  to  moral  resolution." 

Mary  stopped  opposite  her  brother.  The  table  with  the 
old-figured  table-cloth  was  between  them.  The  light  from 
the  large  double  window  fell  greenish-gray  upon  his  face. 
He  looked  as  unwholesome  as  possible,  a  strange  brother 
for  Mary  Bisset  to  lay  claim  to. 


366  KIT    KENNEDY 

"Now,  Dick  Bisset,"  tlie  sibilants  fairly  hissed,  driven 
forward  by  the  impulsion  of  scorn  and  disgust  which  was 
behind  them,  "  will  you  give  me  the  eighteen  pounds  you 
stole  from  Kit  Kennedy  np-stairs,  or  shall  I  bring  in  a 
policeman  ?" 

Dick  had  been  stamping,  shuffling,  rubbing  his  hands 
disconsolately,  and  generally  dragging  himself  frowsily  to- 
gether to  face  the  actualities  of  the  day. 

But  when  Mary's  Avords,  as  clearly  enunciated  as  if  spoken 
to  a  class,  fell  on  his  ear,  he  seemed  to  tumble  inward  upon 
himself  like  a  collapsing  house. 

''  Eh — eh  ? — what — what's  that  ?"  he  gasped,  gripping 
at  the  edge  of  the  table  and  almost  barking  across  at  his 
sister  as  he  thrust  a  suddenly  whitened  face  nearer  to  her. 

Mary  Bisset  repeated  her  request  still  more  clearly. 

"  I  allow  you  five  minutes  to  make  up  your  mind.  Either 
give  me  the  eighteen  pounds  you  stole  out  of  Kit  Kennedy's 
desk,  or  1  will  go  down  and  fetch  up  that  policeman  there  !" 

And  with  her  hand  Mary  indicated  the  cloaked  figure 
standing  sentinel  opposite  the  baker's  shop. 

"  Hush — for  God's  sake,  hush  !  My  father  will  hear 
you,"  Avhispered  Dick. 

"  My  father  is  gone  out — my  mother  is  busy.  We  can 
talk  !"  said  his  sister. 

"  I  didn't,  Mary — by  heaven,  I  didn't  do  it.  I  wasn't  in 
his  room  a  moment.  He  lent  me  the  money,"  gasped  Dick. 
"  He  lent  me  a  pound — I  own  that,  but  I  did  not  steal  his 
money.  What  do  you  mean,  Mary  Bisset" — he  spoke  louder 
now — "by  charging  your  brother  with  being  a  common 
thief  ?     I'll  let  you  know,  madam — " 

Mary  fixed  him  with  the  eye  wherewith  she  subdued  an 
unruly  class  or  kept  at  bay  a  demonstrative  admirer. 

"Richard,"  she  said,  straightly,  "where  were  you  going 
when  I  opened  the  door  to  let  out  Mr.  Cathcart  ?  I  saw 
you  run  up-stairs  into  Mr.  Kennedy's  room.  I  waited  till 
I  heard  you  come  down  again.     I  knew  you  must  have 


MARY    IMPROVES    DICK'S    ARITHMETIC  36? 

come  home  early  from  the  Elysium  on  purpose.  But  I 
thought  you  wanted  to  see  if  Kennedy  had  got  home.  I 
know  better  now.     Give  me  the  money." 

Then  the  face  of  Mr.  Richard  Bisset  became  pitiful  to 
see. 

"Don't  tell  my  father  that,"  he  said;  "he  always  sides 
against  me.  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  had  to  do  it  or  be  dis- 
graced. I  was  owing  money  at  the  office.  Besides,  the 
*  swot'  up-stairs  has  plenty  of  money  and  he  thinks  his  pal 
took  it  —  that  smithy  -  shop  chap  with  the  Roman  beak. 
Mary,  as  you  love  me,  as  I  am  your  brother,  don't  say  a 
word." 

He  came  round  the  table  and  tried  to  take  his  sister  by 
the  hand.  His  weak  mouth  was  Avorking,  and  there  was  a 
gletty  foam  gathering  about  the  wicks. 

"Give  me  the  money,"  repeated  Mary  Bisset,  implacably. 

"Be  merciful,  Mary,"  he  cried,  sinking  on  his  knees; 
"see,  I  beg  of  you.  You  and  I  have  always  been  pretty 
good  friends,  haven't  we,  Mary  ?" 

"Get  up,  you  pitiful  coward,"  cried  his  sister;  "stand 
up  to  your  crime  like  a  man.  Give  me  back  every  penny 
you  stole  from  Kit  Kennedy,  Avithout  which  he  is  dis- 
graced." 

"I  cannot — before  God  I  cannot,"  groaned  Dick,  still 
on  his  knees;  "see  here,  sis,  I  had  to  put  in  ten  pounds 
yesterday  morning  into  the  till  before  the  boss  came  along 
to  check  my  petty  cash.  And  I  spent  the  rest — I  gave 
some  to — " 

"  No  more  lies,  Dick ;  you  couldn't  spend  eight  pounds 
in  a  single  day  even  if  the  first  part  Avere  true.  Come  into 
your  room  !" 

Mr.  Richard  Bisset  raised  himself  to  his  full  height  and 
endeavored  to  assume  a  dignified  expression. 

"What  if  I  bid  you  do  your  worst,"  he  said,  in  a  bully- 
ing tone.  "  I  can  see  the  country  sAvine  has  been  blabbing 
to  vou.     How  will  it  look  if  it  comes  out  to  Mr.  Cathcart 


368  KIT    KENNEDY 

and  your  managers  that  jou  snppered  that  same  night  at 
8ponton's  with  the  loser  of  the  money?  How  can  he 
prove  that  he  did  not  spend  the  money  himself,  or  take 
it  in  his  pocket  and  get  eased  of  it  on  the  way— aye,  or 
give  it  to  you  himself  ?  Oh,  such  things  have  been  before, 
young  lady,  and  they  can  be  again.  And  your  good  name 
ain't  quite — " 

''I  want  the  money,"  said  Mary  Bisset,  so  coldly  and 
bitterly  that  Kit  Kennedy  would  not  have  known  her 
voice  had  he  been  in  the  next  room ;  "  whatever  may 
come  of  it  after,  my  word  and  his  will  be  better  than 
yours  in  court.  Kennedy  and  his  comrade  will  SAvear  to 
the  money  being  in  the  desk.  I  will  swear  that  I  saw 
you  take  it— that  will  be  enough." 

It  would.  Dick  knew  that  it  would  be  much  more  than 
enough.  Besides,  the  fear  of  consequences  which  served 
him  as  conscience  was  in  arms  against  him.  That  Mary 
was  rather  overstating  her  case  did  not  occur  to  him.  lie 
collapsed  all  at  once. 

"As  I  live,  Mary,  I  have  not  got  more  than  a  pound  or 
two  left,  and  I  need  the  money  badly." 

"Turn  out  your  pockets,  and  then  I  will  see  what  I 

shall  do." 

"  You  shall  have  every  penny  if  you  won't  split,"  said 
Dick,  eagerly  ladling  crushed  cigarettes,  loose  tobacco, 
matches,  coppers,  silver,  and  stray  half-sovereigns  out  of 
his  pockets. 

"Open  that  case."  Mary  pointed  to  Dick's  only  lock- 
fast place— a  little  jewel-case  she  had  once  given  him  on 
his  birthday.  Her  brother  scowled  at  her  with  an  almost 
murderous  look  in  his  eyes. 

"I  sha'n't  do  anything  of  the  sort.  There's  nothing  in 
there  that  concerns  you— no,  nor  your  precious  friend  up- 
stairs either,"  he  said,  with  an  ugly  sneer. 

"Very  well,"  said  Mary  Bisset,  beginning  to  walk  tow- 
ards the  outer  door. 


MARY    IMriiOVES    DICK'S    ARITHMETIC  3G9 

Dick  saw  the  wet  water-proof  cover  of  the  policeman's 
helmet  still  sentinel  beneath  the  window. 

''Don't  go,"  he  said,  weakly;  "I'll  open  it." 

He  fumbled  in  his  waistcoat  for  the  key,  then  fumbled 
a  little  longer  with  the  lock.  It  opened  quickly,  and  a 
torrent  of  letters  and  notes,  on  pink  and  other  fanciful 
papers,  tumbled  out  and  slid  with  a  soft  rush  upon  the 
iloor.  They  were  mostly  strongly  scented,  and  mono- 
gramed  in  several  colors. 

Mary  stirred  these  contumeliously  with  the  j^oint  of  her 
small  but  very  practical  boot.  Then  she  lifted  the  lid  of  a 
little  velvet-lined  compartment.  Two  pounds  in  notes  lay 
there,  togetiier  with  a  white-wrapped  jeweller's  box.  Mary 
coolly  lifted  and  counted  the  money  and  slipped  it  into  her 
pocket.  Then  she  possessed  herself  of  the  jeweller's  box 
and  a  receipted  bill  which  lay  beneath  it. 

Dick  swept  forward  again. 

''Leave  that  alone!"  he  cried,  hoarsely;  "that  has 
nothing  to  do  with  you  or  with  the  money.  I  swear  to  you 
that  it  has  not !" 

Mary  coolly  stood  her  ground  and  opened  the  bill.  It 
was  dated  the  day  before,  and  the  date  stamp  attested  the 
fact  that  it  had  been  paid  the  same  day  to  a  firm  of  jewel- 
lers on  the  North  Bridge. 

Then  she  thrust  the  whole  into  her  pocket. 

"  Go  to  your  breakfast,  Dick  Bisset,"  she  said,  "  and 
thank  your  Maker  that  you  have  a  sister." 

Dick  made  a  final  appeal. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  in  a  shaky  voice,  "you  and  I  have  al- 
Avays  been  pals.  I've  never  told  about  yonr  going  to  church. 
I've  never  let  on  that  you  don't  think  as  father  does.  Give 
me  the  money  now.  I'll  pay  that  fellow  up-stairs  as  soon 
as  I  can  raise  the  cash.  I  will — I  promise  it.  I'll  swear  it  if 
you  like.     But  I  need  the  money  now,  and  I  must  have  it." 

"All  I  have  to  say  to  yon  I  have  said,  Richard  Bisset. 
Now  go  !"  quoth  this  determined  little  lady. 

24 


370  KIT    KENNEDY 

Then  the  fellow's  sudden  anger  burst  into  sudden  fury. 

"Yon  call  yourself  a  sister.  You  think  yourself  a 
Christian.  I  hate  such  sneaking.  You  will  favor  anj^- 
body  but  your  own  brother.  I  don't  believe  you  are  my 
sister  at  all.  I've  seen  my  father's  jDapers,  mind  you.  I 
know  more  than  you  tliink.  You  are  no  sister  of  mine. 
You're  a  foundling  picked  out  of  a  hedge  root  !" 

"Well,"  said  Mar}',  careless  of  his  raving,  "at  any  rate 
I  know  more  than  fatlier  knows  about  some  things.  And 
if  you  don't  take  care  I  will  tell  him  what  I  know." 

"Take  care  !  Take  care  yourself."  Dick  stood  before 
his  sister  with  clinched  hands  and  injected  eyes.  "  What 
would  your  father  say  if  he  knew  that  you  went  regularly  to 
church — sneaked  off  to  communion  when  he  thought  you 
were  walking  in  the  park  with  me.  And  I've  screened  you 
for  years,  and  expected  you  to  stand  up  for  me  in  your 
turn.  More  than  that,  suppose  I  split  about  your  walk- 
ing in  the  Meadows  with  Kennedy,  and  his  meeting  you 
every  night  on  the  way  home.  What  would  your  father 
say  to  you  then,  Miss  Immaculate  Straightforwardness  !" 

"You  can  say  or  leave  unsaid  exactly  what  you  please," 
said  Mary;  "perhaps  my  father  knows  more  of  these 
things  than  you  imagine.  At  any  rate  (she  added,  looking 
meditatively  out  of  the  window),  there  always  remains  the 
policeman  !" 

"Children — children — what  are  you  arguing  about," 
cried  Mrs.  Bisset  through  the  shut  door.  Then,  dusting 
the  meal  from  her  hands,  she  opened  it,  and  saw  Dick 
standing  at  one  side  of  the  table  and  Mary  on  the  other 
the  window  with  a  book  in  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  Dick  is  helping  yon  wi'  your  arithmetic," 
she  said.     "  Ye  were  aye  a  kennin'  weak  in  that,  Mary  !" 

"No,  mother,"  rejoined  Mary  Bisset,  calmly  walking  to 
her  breakfast  in  the  kitchen,  "  this  morning  it  is  I  who 
have  been  improving  Dick's  arithmetic  I" 


CHAPTER   XLVIII 

THE   PRETTY   GIRL  TAKES   CHARGE 

Mary  made  a  very  hurried  breakfast  in  spite  of  her 
mother's  anxious  protests. 

''Eh,  lassie,  ye  are  eatin'  juist  naething,  and  I  trudged 
a'  the  road  to  the  Cross  Causeway  for  the  kippers.  Hen- 
derson's is  the  only  shop  for  them  in  the  Soothside.  And 
ye  hae  plenty  o'  time.  Dick,  gar  her  eat  something  afore 
she  gangs  oot.  The  lassie  will  starve  by  dinner  time.  And 
then  she  will  as  like  as  no  tak'  nae  mair  than  a  biscuit  or  a 
'bap'  to  her  milk." 

But  Dick  appeared  preoccupied,  and  his  whole  contri- 
bution was  a  sullen,  "Oh,  let  me  alone!"  in  reply  to  his 
mother. 

Mary  rose,  and,  having  collected  her  books  and  methodi- 
cally furled  her  umbrella,  she  Avent  out. 

She  had  nearly  an  hour  to  spare.  This  was  not  one  of 
her  early  mornings  at  school.  She  had  time  to  visit  a  cer- 
tain jeweller's  shop  in  the  North  Bridge  where  she  had 
business.  A  smart  assistant  was  dusting  a  long  array  of 
glass  cases,  inclosing  objects  which  the  printed  cards  dis- 
played above  termed  "Bijouterie,"  as  unsympathetically 
as  if  they  had  been  the  legs  of  chairs. 

An  older  man,  with  a  look  of  responsibility  upon  his 
face,  was  taking  off  his  coat  in  leisurely  fashion  before 
hanging  it  up  in  a  little  glazed  office  open  at  the  top. 

"I  should  like  to  return  this  ring,"  said  Mary,  opening 
the  box  and  displaying  its  contents  to  the  assistant.     The 


372  KIT    KExNNEDY 

youth  smartened  up  noticeably  at  her  entrance  and  greet- 
ed her  with  a  bow,  which,  however,  was  half-checked  when 
he  heard  the  object  of  her  visit  so  abruptly  stated. 

"You  wish  to  return  this  ring,"  he  repeated  a  little  un- 
certainly, as  if  he  could  not  have  heard  aright.  "  Is  it 
not  satisfactory  ?" 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Mary.  "  But  my  brother  bought  it 
under  a  misapprehension.  The  money  —  the  money  he 
paid  for  it  was  not  his  own.  That  is,  he  had  no  right  to 
spend  it,  and  I  want  it  back  !" 

Mary  was  conscious  that  she  was  not  doing  herself  jus- 
tice. But  the  case  was  difficult.  So  she  smiled.  That 
smile  "wandered"  the  assistant.  He  promptly  lost  grip, 
but  with  a  last  instinct  of  self-preservation  he  fell  back  on 
his  reserves. 

"Mr.  Ashton  !"  he  said. 

The  responsible -looking  man,  now  delivered  from  his 
surtout,  came  out  of  the  office  with  a  letter  open  in  his 
hand  and  a  quill  between  his  teeth.  He  removed  the  lat- 
ter and  also  the  frown  from  his  brow  at  the  sight  of  the 
pretty  girl,  and,  passing  his  hand  automatically  over  his 
thin  hair  with  the  action  of  making  sure  that  it  was  not 
standing  on  end,  he  came  forward  to  the  counter  at  which 
she  stood. 

"  Well,  madam,  and  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?"  he  said, 
bowing  to  the  early  customer. 

His  face  grew  graver,  however,  as  Mary  stated  her  case. 

"  I  don't  think  we  can ;  in  fact,  I  know  we  cannot,"  he 
said,  very  excusably. 

"Mr.  Ashton,"  said  the  girl,  earnestly,  "I  do  not  ask 
you  to  do  this  thing  as  an  ordinary  business  transaction. 
But  the  circumstances  are  peculiar.  I  must  return  the 
money  my  brother  spent  with  you.  I  am  the  daughter  of 
Mr.  Bisset — the — the  Lecturer,  and  I  am  only  a  girl  (with 
a  little  gasping  sob),  but — I  am  trying  to  set  things  right  !" 

The   sob   took  the   responsible    man   by  surprise.     He 


THE    rUETTY    GIRL    TAKES    CHARGE   373 

stared  at  the  pretty  girl.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 
He  thought  he  had  never  seen  anything  quite  like  it — at 
least  not  for  five-aud-twenty  years.  Then  suddenly  Mary 
Bisset  smiled  at  him  through  her  tears.  He  had  once, 
very  long  ago,  seen  something  like  that. 

"But  I  am  foolish  to  trouble  you  with  it !"  she  said. 

The  responsible  man  smiled  in  his  turn,  and  rubbed  his 
hair-parting  in  some  perplexity. 

"It  is  gravely  irregular,  and  I  don't  know  what  my  part- 
ner will  say.     But  let  me  see  the  receipt." 

With  the  money  in  her  pocket,  all  six  pounds  ten  of  it, 
Mary  Avalked  erectly  down  the  North  Bridge,  and  out  upon 
the  arches  by  which  that  fine  highway  swings  itself  con- 
temptuously across  the  screeching,  snorting  underworld  of 
the  Waverley  Station. 

The  tears  were  still  wet  in  her  eyes,  but  it  might  be  the 
wind  that  kept  them  there. 

Back  in  the  shop  on  the  North  Bridge  there  was  a 
smile  on  Mr.  Ashton's  face  which  something  else  than 
the  snell  bite  of  the  North  -  Easter  had  brought  there. 
He  held  Dick's  receipt  in  his  hand  and  examined  it  med- 
itatively. 

''This  been  crossed  out  on  the  stock  book  ?"  he  called 
out,  suddenly. 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  smart  clerk,  looking  out  from  behind 
the  window-case  shutters. 

"Ah,  well,  see  here,"  he  said,  tearing  it  up  into  frag- 
ments, "put  the  ring  back  in  the  show-case  and  write  a 
new  ticket.  And,  ah — you  can  have  Wednesday  afternoon 
for  a  holiday.  You  need  not  mention  the  transaction  to 
Mr.  Merrylees  !" 

The  clerk  said  aloud,  "  Thank  you,  sir ;  certainly  not, 
sir." 

Then,  having  retired  behind  some  high  show-cases,  he 
coughed  discreetly  behind  his  hand. 

"And  at  his  age,  too  !"  he  said  to  himself. 


374  KIT    KP:NNEDY 

It  was  five  o'clock  of  the  afternoon.  Kit  Kennedy  had 
been  at  liome  twenty  minntes,  after  having  waited  in  vain 
for  over  an  hour  at  the  Surgeons'  Hall  in  the  hope  of  meet- 
ing Miss  Mary  Bisset.  He  had  not  lit  the  single  flaring 
jet  of  gas  which  his  agreement  with  his  landlady  permitted 
him  to  use  at  his  pleasure.  He  did  not  even  close  the 
shutters,  but  sat  staring  out  into  the  gloom  of  the  long,  un- 
interesting street.  He  had  dulled  the  edge  of  his  remorse 
with  a  day  of  such  hard  study  as  he  had  not  done  since  he 
came  to  Edinburgh.  With  the  zeal  of  the  reformer  he  had 
performed  much  more  than  his  appointed  task,  and  had, 
in  fact,  gone  on  reading  an  English  translation  of  a  recent- 
ly translated  German  treatise  on  Greek  accents  till  the 
reading-rooms  of  the  University  had  been  closed.  Now  he 
had  neither  the  heart  nor  the  necessity  to  begin  any  further 
studies. 

Rob  Grier  had  not  come  back  from  his  guinea-a-month 
tuition,  and  the  fire  was  smouldering  under  the  roofing  of 
black  slate  with  which  Mrs.  Christieson  covered  it  every 
time  her  lodgers  went  out. 

Kit  could  hear  that  lady  shuffling  about  in  her  little 
kitchen  and  he  smelt  the  odor  of  burning  toast.  There 
came  a  sharp  knock  at  the  door,  not  loud  and  indignant 
like  the  postman's  w^hen  he  has  come  all  the  way  up  four 
flights  of  stairs  with  a  postcard,  but  light  and  decisive. 

He  heard  Mrs.  Christieson  open  the  door,  and  then  a 
voice  said  clearly  in  a  tone  and  accent  that  thrilled  him  to 
the  heart,  *'Is  Mr.  Kennedy  at  home  ?" 

"  Aye,  he's  at  hame.  At  least  I  think  sae  !"  returned 
Mrs.  Christieson  with  reserved  suspicion. 

"  Will  you  tell  him  that  Miss  Bisset  has  a  message  for 
him  ?" 

The  landlady  came  in  muttering.  "Did  ye  ever  see  the 
like  ?"  And  with  a  countenance  indicative  of  the  gravest 
disapproval  she  opened  the  door  of  the  sitting-room  and 
announced  Kit's  visitor.     With  a  quick  spring  Kit  closed 


THE    i'KETTY    GIKL    TAKES    CHARGE  375 

the  door  of  the  little  close  -  bed  where  he  and  Rob  Grier 
passed  the  night  in  exceedingly  close  quarters. 

"Come  in,  Ma — Miss  Bissct,"  he  said.  "I  am  sorry  I 
did  not  see  your  fatlier  when  I  called.  I  meant  to  have 
told  him  about  my  visit  to  his  friend  Mr.  Strong." 

Kit  thought  rather  well  of  himself  for  his  tactful  inter- 
pretation of  Mary's  visit  in  the  presence  of  this  hostile 
third  party.     But  Mary  was  uncompromising. 

"I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  myself,"  she  said.  "I  did 
not  know  that  you  had  called  for  my  father." 

Kit  stood  with  the  door  -  knob  in  his  hand  while  Mrs. 
Christieson  lighted  the  gas  and  stirred  the  fire. 

"  I  shall  not  need  tea  till  Mr.  Grier  comes  in,"  he  said. 
"Thank  you,  don't  trouble  about  the  fire  any  more  !" 

For  Kit  had  learned  other  things  besides  the  classics 
from  the  "' Orra  Man."  For  instance,  he  made  sure  now 
that  Mrs.  Christieson  had  retired  to  her  own  domains  by 
the  simple  process  of  looking  down  the  passage,  and  then 
turned  to  shake  hands  with  Mary  Bisset. 

But  that  young  lady  was  in  an  exceedingly  business-like 
mood. 

"  This  is  yours,"  she  said,  quietly  handing  him  a  roll  of 
notes.     "Will  you  oblige  me  by  counting  them  ?" 

Kit  stared  and  gasped  in  his  astonishment.  But  his 
hand  being  still  outstretched,  he  mechanically  took  the 
bank  notes  and  turned  them  over  helplessly. 

"What — what  is  this  ?"  he  said.  "How  did  you  get — 
where  ?" 

"I  will  put  the  matter  plainly,  Mr.  Ken — Kit,"  she  said, 
relenting  a  little,  "  and  then  you  must  decide  what  you 
are  to  do.  One  thing  I  am  decided,  that  you  must  have 
no  more  to  do  with  any  of  us.  My  brother  broke  open 
that  desk  in  your  absence  and  stole  this  money.  I  return 
it  to  you.  If  you  are  inclined  to  prosecute,  I  can  give 
such  evidence  as  will  be  sufficient  to  convict  him." 

Kit  sprang  forward  to  take  her  hand. 


376  KIT    KENNEDY 

''Mary/'  he  cried,  ''as  if  I  could  !  What  does  it  matter  ? 
Dick  is  nothing  to  me.  It  served  me  right  for  listening 
to  him.  I  should  have  known  better  than  to  have  taken 
you  to  his  wretched  supper-party.  But  I  only  care  for  you, 
and  I  wanted  to  see  you." 

"  You  must  not  see  me  any  more/'  said  Mary,  compress- 
ing her  lips  at  the  end  of  every  sentence  ;  "you  have  your 
career  to  think  of  and  your  reputable  companions.  I  for- 
bid you  ever  again  to  speak  to  me  I" 

"Mary,"  cried  Kit,  catching  at  a  hand  that  evaded  him 
without  its  owner  appearing  to  notice  the  attempt,  "you 
do  not  mean  it !" 

The  pretty  girl  nodded  determinedly. 

"I  have  learned  many  things  during  these  last  days," 
she  said  ;  "  the  Avorld  is  not  given  us  to  get  Avhat  we  want 
in.     Good-bye— Mr.— Kit." 

The  Christian  name  was  a  compromise,  and  carried  with 
it  the  weakness  inherent  in  all  compromises. 

There  came  a  little  throbbing  quaver  into  her  voice  as 
she  turned  towards  the  door,  saying,  "It  is  a  shame.  And 
we  might  have  been  such  friends  !" 

"  And  so  we  shall,  Mary,"  cried  Kit,  following  her 
eagerly  ;  "I  do  not  care — !" 

But  his  visitor  was  already  in  the  narrow  passage  out- 
side, and  Kit  was  sure  that  Mrs.  Christieson's  ear  was 
glued  to  the  crack  of  the  kitchen  door.  He  could  only 
follow  his  sweetheart  silently  to  the  outer  landing. 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  said  Mary  Bisset,  without 
again  looking  at  him. 

"Good-night !"  said  Kit,  dropping  her  hand  in  a  dazed 
way  and  watching  her  down  the  stairs  till  she  was  lost  in 
the  gloom  of  her  father's  doorway. 

"  And  wull  ye  hae  your  tea  noo,  or  wull  ye  wait  for 
Maister  Grier,"  said  his  landlady,  jiutting  her  head  out  at 
the  door  of  the  kitchen.  "  At  ony  rate,  come  in  an'  shut 
the  door  !" 


THE    PRETTY    GIRL    TAKES    CHARGE  377 

''I  don't  Avant  any  tea  !  I  sliall  never  want  tea  again  I" 
said  Kit,  seizing  his  Lat  and  rushing  down-stairs. 

Mrs.  Christieson  lifted  up  her  hands  and  stood  looking 
after  him, 

''Lord  sake,  is't  as  bad  as  that  ?"  she  cried. 

And  having  shut  the  outer  door  with  a  bang  she  returned 
within,  muttering  that  "  it  wasna  sae  in  my  young  days, 
the  idea  !  'Miss  Bisset' — no  less,  and  'I  have  a  message 
for  Mr.  Kennedy,'  as  bold  as  brass.  And  then  when  she 
tak's  her  leave,  the  puir  laddie  wants  nae  tea  and  gangs 
fleein'  doon  the  stair  as  if  he  was  oot  o'  his  mind.  It's  a 
crying  shame  and  a  disgrace,  and  sae  I  wnll  tell  Mistress 
Mairchbanks  when  she  comes  up  the  stair  to  hear  the 
news." 

But  Kit  was  not  long  before  lie  returned.  He  had 
brought  a  small  cash-box  with  a  lever  lock,  and  to  this  he 
consigned  the  bank  notes  which  he  had  so  wonderfully  re- 
covered. He  noticed  that  nine  of  them  were  new  and 
crisp,  but  he  did  not  know  the  reason.  He  only  knew 
that  she  had  given  them  to  him.  So  as  he  was  stooping 
over  the  great  red  painted  box  the  Whinnyliggate  joiner 
had  made  for  him  to  hold  his  books  and  clothes  in,  he 
looked  shamefacedly  around,  and  then  with  a  swift  furtive 
action  he  kissed  the  paper  which  her  hands  had  touched. 
But  he  did  not  know  what  these  rustling  sheaves  had  cost 
the  girl.  Then  he  placed  in  the  cash-box  besides  the  mon- 
ey the  tassel  of  an  umbrella,  which  somehow  had  found  its 
way  mysteriously  into  his  pocket  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
he  had  never  owned  an  umbrella  in  his  life. 

Down  in  the  room  below  Mary  Bisset  was  surveying  her- 
self in  the  glass.  She  had  been  dabbing  her  tear-stained 
eyes  with  a  handkerchief  after  the  immemorial  manner  of 
women,  and  was  now  "seeing  how  she  looked''  before  go- 
ing into  the  kitchen  to  her  mother. 

"I  did  it  for  the  best,"  she  said.     "  And  I  am  very  glad. 
■  But  I  did  want  a  new  dress  and  cloak  this  winter.     I  sup- 


378  KIT    KENNEDY 

pose  this  will  turn.  And  at  any  rate  he  will  never  know — 
I  shall  never,  never  let  him  speak  to  me  again  V 

But  at  this  point  somehow  she  could  not  dab  fast  enough, 
and  had  to  sit  down  and  bury  her  sobs  in  the  pillow  lest 
her  mother  should  come  in  and  ask  her  what  was  the 
matter. 

The  late  post  brought  to  Kit  in  his  fifth  floor  chamber 
two  letters  and  a  visitor.  The  first  letter  was  from  his 
mother  and  the  visitor  was  his  father. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

kit's  mother's  letter 

"Dear  Son  [so  the  letter  begaii], — I  know  not  when  I  shall  get  this 
letter  written  nor  yet  how  I  shall  get  it  forwarded  to  you.  I  must 
depend  upon  tlie  opportunities  of  a  kind  Providence. 

"God  knows  I  would  not  distress  you  unless  there  were  need. 
But  so  sore  has  been  my  trouble  and  my  need  so  pressing  that  I  have 
no  other  resource. 

"You  know,  dear  Kit,  that  I  have  never  complained,  but  have 
been  rather  thankful  tliat  life  held  so  much  for  such  an  one  as  I. 
But  now  I  cannot  bear  very  much  longer. 

"My  husband  is  grown  so  troubled  in  mind  that  he  is  often  quite 
past  himself.  I  say  not  that  lie  can  help  himself,  for  his  mood  comes 
upon  him  like  a  possession,  and  at  such  times  I  go  in  hourly  fear  of 
my  life.  He  has  shut  me  out  from  the  sight  of  any  human  creature 
ever  since  he  heard  of  your  winning  the  college  bursary,  at  which  I 
could  not  conceal  my  joy. 

"  Now  he  speaks  of  taking  me  to  Sandhaven,  there  to  spend  the 
winter.  I  know  not  what  he  has  in  his  mind.  But  as  we  are  to  pass 
through  Edinburgh,  I  hope  to  see  you,  though  I  know  not  how.  We 
put  up  (according  to  present  intention)  at  the  Tabernacle  Hotel,  which 
is,  I  believe,  situated  in  a  street  called  Leith  Walk. 

"  Be  diligent  at  your  lessons,  dear  son.  And,  Kit,  do  not  forget 
your  prayers.  The  day  may  come  when  they  and  the  hope  of  death 
are  all  that  remain  to  you  in  this  world.  Pray  for  your  mother  also, 
that  soon  she  may  have  that  rest  which  is  the  alone  desire  of  her 
heart. 

"But  first  she  would  like  to  see  you  through  the  college  and  es- 
tablished with  credit  in  some  profession.  I  hope  you  will  choose  the 
holy  ministry." 

The  letter  ended  sharply,  without  leave-taking  or  signa- 
ture, and  to  Kit's  mind,  now  sharpened  by  hatred  and  sus- 


380  KIT    KENNEDY 

picion,  this  suggested  that  the  remainder  had  been  cut 
short  by  the  necessity  of  concealment,  or  perhaps  in  order 
to  take  advantage  of  a  chance  to  have  it  forwarded. 

The  other  letter  was  from  Betty  Landsborough.  It  ran 
more  briefly : 

"Dear  Kit,— I  write  to  let  you  know  about  your  mother.  Walter 
Mac  Walter  is,  Rob  aud  I  botli  think,  plainly  going  out  of  his  mind. 
And  we  think  something  ought  to  be  tried  to  get  her  away  from  him, 
lest  he  do  her  a  mortal  mischief.  He  locks  her  up  in  a  room  at  Kirk- 
oswald  and  keeps  the  key,  letting  none  go  near  her  but  himself. 
Heather  Jock  brought  the  word,  but  Walter  Mac  Walter  has  threatened 
to  shoot  him  if  ever  he  catches  him  about  the  house  again. 

"Dear  Kit,  they  say  that  you  collegers  have  holidays  at  Christmas 
time.  Come  home  if  you  have  to  walk  all  the  way,  and  Rob  Armour 
and  you  and  me  will  try  to  get  her  way  from  that  man.  It  is  not 
safe.  We  are  all  in  some  measure  of  health  here.  Your  grandfather 
and  grandmother  are  well  at  time  of  writing.  Laziness  is  all  that  is 
the  matter  with  Rob,  also  conceit  of  himself. 

"Kit,  I  hope  you  are  behaving  yourself  among  the  Edinburgh  lasses, 
and  have  not  forgotten  your  old  friend, 

"Betty  Landsborough." 

"While  Kit  perused  his  letters  the  "  Orra  Man  "  sat  look- 
ing at  him  with  a  hungry  look  in  his  face.  He  had  notice- 
ably improved  in  appearance  since  the  day  after  the  Elysium. 
He  now  wore,  not  a  spare  suit  of  Mr.  Bisset's,  but  a  well- 
cut  overcoat,  frock-coat,  and  gray  trousers.  His  carefully- 
brushed  silk-hat  lay  on  the  table  brim  u]3 wards. 

He  continued  to  gaze  wistfully  and  eagerly  at  the  letter 
in  Kit's  hand.  Kit  laid  it  on  the  table  Avhile  he  read  over 
Betty's. 

"Well  ?"  said  Christopher  Kennedy,  B.A.,  a  white  and 
quivering  anxiety  settling  down  upon  his  pale  face.  He 
frequently  smoothed  his  hair,  now  liberally  sprinkled  with 
silver,  and  pulled  at  the  mustache,  which,  however,  still 
remained  black  and  long. 

An  impulse  came  over  Kit.  It  was  an  old  adage  of  his 
grandfather's,  which  he  had  but  lately  begun  to  understand 


KIT'S    MOTHER'S    LETTER  381 

the  meaning  of,  that  nothing  steadies  a  man  like  responsi- 
bility, or  women  like  children  of  tlieir  own. 

Impulsively  he  thrust  both  letters  across  to  his  father 
and  sat  looking  at  him  as  he  tried  to  peruse  them.  Chris- 
topher Kennedy  laid  the  papers  down,  gravely  drew  out  a 
double  eye-glass,  carefully  adjusted  it  upon  his  nose,  and 
lifted  Lilias  Mac  Walter's  letter  with  shaking  fingers. 

As  he  read  his  head  drooped  on  his  hand,  and  the  letter 
was  laid  down  on  the  table-cloth,  with  a  fast-falling  rain  of 
tears  falling  upon  it. 

Kit  sat  silent  and  waited. 

At  last  his  father  looked  up.  He  read  both  communica- 
tions more  than  once. 

"  Kit,"  he  said,  in  an  almost  inaudible  voice,  "  do  you 
think  you  can  trust  me  with  these  letters  ?  I  have  too 
long  stood  apart  as  unworthy  and  allowed  this  iniquity  to 
go  unchecked.  Now,  thank  God,  by  the  help  of  my  two 
friends  and  fellow-townsmen,  Alexander  Strong  and  Daniel 
Bisset,  I  am  depending  upon  strength  that  is  not  my  own. 
There  lies  upon  me  a  responsibility  of  which  you  know 
nothing.  Will  you  trust  me  a  little  longer,  and  do  nothing 
in  this  matter  till  I  have  laid  these  two  letters  before  them  ?" 

''  What  has  Mr.  Strong  or  Mr.  Bisset  to  do  with  my 
mother  ?"  said  Kit,  Avith  sturdy  Scottish  unwillingness 
that  such  troubles  should  be  spoken  of  outside  the  family. 

"  Mr.  Strong  nothing,  save  as  one  in  Avhom  I  have  con- 
fided, and  who  has  helped  me  as  it  does  not  often  fall  to 
one  man  to  help  another.  He  has  put  power  and  purpose 
into  my  poor  life.  But  as  to  Daniel  Bisset  and  his  daughter  ! 
That  is  another  matter  I  They  are  most  intimately  con- 
nected with  all  that  concerns  Walter  Mac  Walter." 

Kit  felt  that  he  was  beyond  his  depth.  But  the  look  of 
jjower  and  dignity  on  the  "  Orra  Man's  "  face  was  so  sur- 
prising that  he  suffered  him  to  carry  off  the  letters. 

Christopher  Kennedy  rose  with  the  two  papers  in  his 
hand. 


382  KIT    KENNEDY 

"  I  will  return  as  soon  as  we  have  decided  upon  ii  plan  of 
action,"  lie  said,  ''Fear  nothing.  God  has  given  Walter 
Mac  Walter  into  our  hands,  and  the  wronged  woman  who 
has  been  so  long  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  shall  again 
walk  in  the  light." 

He  passed  through  the  door  and  went  down-stairs.  Kit, 
sitting  silent  over  his  books,  could  hear  the  door  of  the 
Bissets'  flat  open  and  shut.  Then  in  a  while  it  opened 
again,  and  presently,  looking  past  the  edge  of  the  blind, 
he  could  see  the  broad  shoulders  of  Daniel  Bisset  and 
the  tall,  slender  figure  of  his  father  striding  down  the 
windy  street  arm  in  arm.  And  he  knew  that  the  ex- 
drunkard  and  the  Infidel  Lecturer  were  on  their  way  to 
take  counsel  with  that  eminently  noble  gentleman  and 
Christian  minister,  the  Reverend  Alexander  Strong,  of 
the  more  than  Metropolitan  Church  of  Saint  Lau- 
rence. 

Rob  Grier  came  back  in  the  highest  spirits,  and  slapped 
Kit  on  the  back. 

"  I've  got  a  berth  for  yon  after  the  New  Year,"  he  cried. 
"What  do  you  think  of  that?  There's  a  cousin  of  my 
cub's  who  is  going  in  for  his  medical  'prelim.'  He  has 
yarned  his  father  that  he  has  passed  already,  and  now  the 
old  man  is  on  the  war-path  and  is  coming  up  at  the  end  of 
the  session  to  prospect.  Besides,  he  is  ready  to  take  his 
first  professional,  and  he  can't  unless  he  has  passed  his 
preliminary.  So  I've  promised  that  you  Avill  shove  him 
through." 

"  Why  don't  you  do  it  yourself,  Rob  ?"  said  Kit,  smiling 
up  at  him. 

"  Oh,  Rob  Grier  kens  his  place,"  said  the  ex-smith,  drop- 
ping into  the  vernacular.  "It's  mainly  Laitin  and  Greek 
that  he  wants.  Besides,  I  hae  as  muckle  afore  my  nose  as 
I  can  manage  I" 

The  two  lads  rose  and  shook  hands  without  words  on 
either  side. 


KIT'S    MOTUEli'S    LETTER  383 

"Now,"  said  liob,  '^  just  cast  your  blinker  ower  my  ver- 
sion, and  ticlv  the  howlers  wi'  a  killivine."  * 

For  this  is  the  sort  of  a  macaronic  speech  produced  by  a 
few  months  of  college  life  acting  upon  a  base  of  rich  Gallo- 
way Doric. 

An  hour  afterwards,  in  the  great,  bare  study  of  Alex- 
ander Strong,  three  men  sat  round  a  table.  Their  host 
v/as  summing  up. 

"  What  you  have  to  do  is  plain.  You,  Bisset,  must  keep 
some  of  your  people  on  their  track  from  the  moment  they 
reach  the  city.  If  Walter  Mac  Walter  is  a  madman,  he  is 
most  certainly  a  madman  with  a  plan  in  his  head.  The 
brother  of  the  dead  Mary  Bisset  may  have  his  own  idea 
what  that  plan  is. 

*'And  you,  my  old  college  mate"  —  he  turned  to  the 
Classical  Master  —  "  yon  have  also  your  part  to  play  '  in 
the  strength  of  a  man,'  as  Bisset  might  say ;  'by  the  help 
of  God,'  as  I  would  put  it.  Eight  is  on  your  side.  We 
will  support  you  in  that  right.  If  Mac  Walter  shows  fight, 
I  will  bring  poor  Nick  French  with  me.  But  he  will  not 
fight.  At  all  hazards  and  at  any  cost  we  must  get  this 
wronged  woman  out  of  his  hands." 

*'Then,"  said  Daniel  Bisset,  "  it  is  agreed  that  we  go  to 
Sandhaven  and  take  Kit  Kennedy  and  Mary  Bisset  with 
us.  That  is,  in  the  event  of  Walter  Mac  Walter  taking  his 
wife  there." 

The  others  nodded,  and  then,  standing  up,  they  all 
shook  hands  solemnly  upon  their  compact. 

*That  is  to  say,  "Underline  the  bad  mistakes  with  a  lead-pencil." 


CHAPTER  L 

Baxter's   folly 

The  old  inn  of  Port  Baxter  lies  high  np  on  the  tall  cliffs 
between  Sandhaven  and  Arbuckle  on  the  east  coast  of 
Scotland.  The  memory  of  the  aboriginal  Baxter  is  not  yet 
qnite  forgotten.  The  oldest  inhabitant  has  endless  stories 
to  tell  of  his  eccentricity,  his  startling  wealth,  and  yet 
more  startling  tales  of  how  he  acquired  the  latter.  Baxter 
of  Baxter's  had  been  an  overseer  and  afterwards  a  master 
in  the  West  India  plantations  in  the  pre  -  emancipation 
days.  He  was  known  indifferently  as  the  "^Anld  whup- 
per-in  "  and  the  ''Slave-driver." 

Nevertheless,  his  descendants  had  fallen  upon  evil  times, 
and  the  most  prominent  now  drove  the  Sandhaven  dust- 
cart. But  a  certain  awe  and  respect  still  accompanied 
Baxter  tertius  on  his  rounds.  Though  not  naturally  dusky, 
the  nature  of  his  profession  gave  some  color  to  the  univer- 
sal opinion  that  he  had  some  ''slaister  o'  the  tar-brush" 
about  him. 

In  the  days  before  railways  there  could  have  been  no  safer 
investment  than  the  inn  of  Port  Baxter.  In  itself  the  port 
was  nothing — a  mere  fringing  hamlet  along  a  sandy  bay 
far  below ;  a  dozen  fishers  divided  into  three  quaintly 
intermarried  families  engaged  chiefly  in  producing  albi- 
nozed  babies  in  thatched  cottages  and  cherishing  odorous 
lobster-pots  upon  a  tiny  quay.  For  all  that,  when  first 
built  "  Baxter's"  little  deserved  its  nickname  of  "Baxter's 
Folly." 


BAXTER'S    FOLLY  385 

But,  like  Baxter's  descendants,  Baxter's  had  fallen  upon 
evil  days.  For  tlie  coaches  had  vanished  from  the  roads 
and  the  bicycles  were  not  yet.  Still,  there  was  a  certain 
traffic,  carriers  between  the  three  notable  towns  from 
Avhich  Baxter's  lay  about  equidistant,  shepherds  driving  to 
or  returning  from  Fairport  market  or  Falkirk  Tryst,  many 
sea  bathers  in  the  summer-time — an  overpress  of  them  in- 
deed, sleeping  in  tiers  in  the  barn  and  on  the  dining-room 
table  of  Baxter's,  so,  at  least,  they  said  in  Fairport.  At 
all  events,  custom  sufficient  there  was  to  make  a  fairly 
rich  woman  of  Mistress  Meysie  Conachar,  the  plump  and 
rosy  hostess,  who  with  her  own  shapely  hands  served  the 
liquors  in  the  bar  and  clinked  the  money  into  the  till. 

It  was  a  dullish  December  evening  that  Hoggie  Ilaugh, 
hostler  and  factotum  of  Mistress  Conachar,  was  engaged 
in  sweeping  out  the  stable-yard  of  Baxter's.  Hoggie  had 
obtained  his  wonderful  Christian  name  (''if  shape  it  could 
be  called  that  shape  had  none  ")  upon  the  ice  at  the  play 
of  the  curling  stones.  He  suffered  as  a  player  from  a 
chronic  inability  to  pass  the  "  hog-score,"  a  sort  of  great 
gulf  fixed  upon  the  rink,  those  failing  to  overpass  which 
abide  in  a  kind  of  limbo,  unclassed  and  uncounted  at  the 
game's  ending.  As  for  Hoggie's  other  name  it  was  seldom 
heard,  but  on  these  occasions  was  pronounced  with  the 
exact  sound  of  some  one  impolitely  clearing  his  throat. 

Now  Hoggie  was  a  stout  fellow,  shrewd,  not  uncomely 
to  look  upon,  and  accounted  to  be  "far  ben"  with  his 
mistress.  There  were  those  who  even  paid  a  kind  of  pro- 
visional court  to  Hoggie,  as  not  unlikely  to  stand  behind 
the  bar  some  day  himself  and  rattle  the  coin  into  the  till, 
the  coppers  into  one  sounding  compartment  and  the  tink- 
ling silver  into  a  place  by  itself. 

Hoggie  communed  Avith  himself  as  he  swept  his  besom 
steadily  to  and  fro — or  rather,  to  be  exact,  to,  but  not  fro  : 

"  It's  saft  like,  but  it's  gaun  to  be  safter  afore  a'  be 
dune,"  he  confided  to  the  clouds.  He  looked  up  at  the 
26 


386  KIT    KENNEDY 

leaden  pall  which  had  spread  above  and  sniffed  at  the  light 
breeze,  which  came  from  the  southeast.  It  smelt  moist 
in  his  nostrils.  And  Hoggie  soliloquized  as  he  leaned  upon 
his  broom  : 

"  Snaw,"  he  said,  nodding  his  head,  sagely  ;  *'an  ending 
o'  snaw  —  wreaths  and  drifts  o'  snaAv  —  a  close  cover  for 
Christmas,  a  white  and  sleekit  New  Year.  And  packs  o' 
veesitors  in  the  hoose,  or  on  their  road.  Guid  send  that 
they  be  storm -stayed  on  their  way,  for  I  kenna  what  they 
will  do  wi'  themsel's.  It's  a  blessin"  that  the  mistress  has 
flour  an'  meal,  hams  in  raws  and  raws,  and  saxty  hens  on  the 
baulks — every  hen  o'  them  guid  layers  even  in  winter-time  I" 

He  sniffed  the  air  again.  "  It's  aboot  tea-time,  Hoggie," 
he  said  ;  "  I  wish  ye  could  smell  the  ham  fryin' — Lord, 
here  they  come  !" 

As  he  spoke  a  high  dog-cart  whirled  past  and  drew  up 
in  the  corner  of  the  yard  with  a  spirited  clatter  and  a 
spraying  of  the  sand  and  gravel  from  the  tense  forefeet  of 
the  black  mare  between  the  shafts. 

A  tall,  dark  man  leaped  down,  and  throwing  the  reins 
carelessly  to  Hoggie  he  turned  to  assist  a  veiled  lady  from 
the  other  seat.  She  was  clad  in  black,  and  wrapped  from 
the  cold  in  many  folds  of  shawl. 

'*'  Here,  take  the  ribbons,  don't  stand  malingering  there  !" 
cried  the  dark  man  to  Hoggie,  "  and  if  you  don't  let  her 
cool  slowly  and  feed  her  well,  I'll  tan  the  hide  off  you,  my 
good  man  with  the  bullet  head  !" 

"  The  bullet  head — very  well,"  said  Hoggie,  under  his 
breath.  "  I'll  mind  that !  Tan  my  hide,  master,  will  ye  ? 
Hoggie  Haugh  kens  a  gentleman  and  a  gentleman's  words. 
And  he  neither  sees  ane  or  hears  the  ither." 

This  to  himself,  and  then  with  a  sympathetic  glance  at 
the  silent  figure  standing  waiting  in  the  snow  he  mur- 
mured, "^Eh,  the  puir  thing,  I'll  Avager  she  has  nane  o' 
her  sorrows  to  seek  wi'  a  black-a-vised  Turk  like  that ! 
Tan  my  hide,  will  he  ?     Let  him  try't,  that's  a'  !"  - 


BAXTER'S    FOLLY  387 

And  Iloggio  Ilangli,  liaving  led  the  black  mare  into  the 
stall,  turned  about  and  "  squared  up  "  scientifically  at  the 
back  of  the  visitor  which  Avas  just  vanishing  into  the  bar, 
the  silent  woman  following  meekly  behind. 

'*  Eh,  puir  thing  !"  said  Hoggie  again. 

Hoggie  went  back  to  his  sweeping,  but  now  with  a  more 
perfunctory  diligence,  owing  in  about  equal  measure  to 
the  broad  flakes  of  moist  snow,  which  had  begun  to  fall 
lightly  and  airily,  with  many  upward  liftings  and  side 
swirlings  in  the  winds  that  blew  before  the  snow-storm,  and 
to  the  fact  that  Hoggie  had  an  eye  to  keep  on  the  kitchen 
of  Baxter's  and  an  ear  to  direct  towards  the  frizzle  of  the 
pan. 

But  before  he  had  time  to  reach  his  desired  haven  of  a 
sonsy  meat  tea  he  discerned  through  the  drift,  which  be- 
gan thinly  to  veil  the  face  of  the  bleak  moorland,  a  num- 
ber of  dark  figures  advancing  on  foot  up  the  long  steep 
ascent. 

At  this  Hoggie  threw  down  his  broom  with  a  justifiable 
expression  of  disgust. 

"  Mair  and  mair  !  They  may  be  wantin'  to  stop  ten 
days  like  yon  drawing  craiturs  that  cam'  at  the  time  o'  the 
snaw-storm  three  year  syne,  and  nearly  ate  us  oot  o'  hoose 
and  hame.  At  the  best  they'll  be  bidin'  for  their  tea,  and 
Hoggie  will  hae  to  wait  till  the  mistress  and  Meg  has  them 
served.  May  the  black  deil  tak'  a'  stravaigers  and  run-the- 
countries  that  are  sae  far  left  to  themsel's  as  to  forsake 
their  ain  comfortable  firesides  in  sic  weather." 

Hoggie  was  at  the  gate  by  this  time,  and  the  stoutest  of 
the  party  of  four  came  forward  to  speak  to  him. 

"  Are  you  the  master  of  this  inn  ?"  he  said,  politely. 

Hoggie  shook  his  head  with  a  curious  little  smirk. 

'' Na,"  he  said,  "I  wadna  tak'  that  upon  mysel' — juist 
yet.  But  the  mistress  is  busy  ben  the  hoose,  and — weel, 
ye  may  say  onything  to  me  that  ye  hae  to  say  to  her." 

"  We  are  three  friends  out  from  Edinburgh  on  a  walk- 


388  KIT    KENNEDY 

ing  tour  in  our  Christmas  holidays.  At  the  last  moment 
my  daughter  wished  to  accompany  us.  I  fear  there  is  a 
storm  brewing.  Could  we  have  any  accommodation,  how- 
ever humble,  at  your  inn  ?" 

Hoggie  scratched  his  head. 

"  Weel,"  he  said,  *'ye'll  hae  to  gang  into  the  auld 
hoose.  For  there's  a  lady  and"  —  Hoggie  paused — he 
could  not  conscientiously  add  'a  gentleman' — "a,  man 
here  already,  and  they  hae  engaged  the  best  rooms  and  the 
parlor.  They  hae  had  them  bespoke  mair  than  three 
weeks.  Sae  gin  ye  want  ony  accommodation,  ye'll  e'en 
hae  to  gang  to  the  auld  hoose." 

"A  double-bedded  room,  and  a  small  one  for  the  young 
lady,  Avill  be  all  we  shall  want,  and  we  are  \villing  to  go 
anywhere  you  can  put  us.  Where  is  the  'auld  hoose'  of 
which  you  sj)eak  ?" 

Hoggie  turned  on  his  heel,  and  pointed  to  a  long,  strag- 
gling, single-storied  thatched,  house,  whose  small  windows 
looked  into  the  quadrangle  of  out-buildings  at  the  back  of 
the  larger  inn. 

"That's  the  auld  hoose,"  he  said;  ''it  was  here  before 
ever  there  was  a  Baxter." 

The  two  seniors — who  Avere,  of  course,  the  "Orra  Man" 
and  Daniel  Bisset — looked  at  each  other. 

"That  will  suit  us  admirably,"  said  Mr.  Bisset.  "Can 
we  go  in  now  and  take  off  our  wet  boots,  and  ease  the 
straps  of  our  knapsacks  ?" 

"Ye  maun  hae  been  ill-fixed  at  hame  that  ye  cam'  aff 
on  a  walkin'  tour,  an'  wi'  a  lassie  too,  in  weather  like  this  ! 
But  I  suj)pose  ye'll  be  English,  an'  the  Almighty,  if  He 
has  gien  them  siller,  has  surely  withhauden  a'  common- 
sense  frae  the  puir  craiturs.  Come  your  ways  ben.  I 
bide  in  the  auld  hoose  mysel' — for  the  present.  And  I'se 
warrant  ye'll  no  be  waur  dune  to  there  than  if  ye  had  the 
best  bedroom  in  Baxter's.     Come  ben  !     Come  ben  !" 


CHAPTER  LT 

"  HOW  LONG,  O  LORD,  HOW  LONG  ?" 

LiLiAS  MacWalter  sat  in  a  little  chillisli  sitting-room, 
in  the  contracted  grate  of  which  a  fire  of  wood  and  peat 
was  reluctantly  burning  up  Avith  a  maximum  of  smoke  and 
a  minimum  of  flame.  She  had  thrown  down  her  shawls 
and  bonnet  upon  the  sofa,  and  now  she  sat  in  the  arm- 
chair by  the  fire  looking  straight  before  her,  a  dull  and 
hopeless  ache  wrenching  stolidly  at  her  heart.  She  had 
suffered  so  much  that  the  acuteness  had  gone  out  of  the 
pain  itself.  Death  and  life  seemed  now  very  much  alike 
to  her.  Walter  MacWalter  grew  every  day  more  sullenly 
enraged.  Sometimes  he  would  sit  and  watch  her  for  hours 
with  hateful,  malevolent  eyes. 

Again,  without  any  apparent  occasion,  he  would  hector 
and  rage,  threaten  and  bully,  till  only  the  dulness  of  weari- 
ness and  indifference  preserved  her  sanity. 

On  this  occasion  he  strode  restlessly  up  and  down  the 
narrow  apartment.  He  had  the  whip  still  in  his  hand 
clutched  in  the  middle,  and  every  other  minute  he  would 
stop  at  the  window  and  curse  the  snow,  which  appeared 
somehow  to  irritate  him  past  endurance. 

"  But  for  this  I  might  have  had  it  over  to-night,"  he 
muttered.  "Pshaw!  nothing  goes  right  with  me!  But  I 
am  glad,  though,  that  the  place  looks  different." 

He  stopped  before  his  wife. 

*^  Woman," he  said,  "rise  up  and  look  after  the  fire,  and 
see  that  the  idle  people  bring  us  something  to  eat." 


390  KIT    KENNEDY 

Lilins  stooped  obedieiith',  and  began  to  arrange  tlie 
smouldering  peat  and  dying  embers.  She  blew  ineffect- 
ually till  the  man,  laying  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder 
with  a  sudden  fierce  access  of  anger,  thrust  her  rudely 
aside. 

"Stand  away  from  there!"  he  cried.  ''You  blow  all 
the  ash  into  the  room.  Get  the  dinner  laid,  and  leave  me 
to  attend  to  the  fire  myself." 

Lilias  moved  listlessly  towards  the  door. 

"No,"  thundered  her  husband,  "did  I  not  tell  you  that 
you  were  not  to  go  out  of  my  sight  on  the  peril  of  your 
life  ?     Dare  to  disobey  me  on  your  peril !     Ring  the  bell  !" 

And  as  the  woman  did  not  at  once  see  the  bell -pull, 
which  was  hidden  behind  a  deep  curtain,  he  rushed  thither 
himself  and  pulled  it  till  the  cord  came  off  in  his  hand, 
and  the  released  lever  sprang  back  with  a  wheezing  screech. 

Mistress  Conachar  of  Baxter's  Inn  appeared  a  moment 
after  at  the  door  of  the  private  parlor,  a  little  flushed  in 
the  face,  partly  from  the  shortness  of  breath  natural  to  her 
years  and  manner  of  life,  and  partly  from  an  excusable 
anger  at  being  summoned  thus  imperiously  in  her  own 
house. 

As  she  entered  Walter  MacWalter  threw  the  green  cord 
of  the  bell-pull  on  the  floor. 

"  Can  you  not  bring  up  dinner  at  once  ?  I  ordered  it  to 
be  ready  upon  my  arrival.  Is  three  weeks  too  short  notice 
for  you  ?" 

"You  are  nearly  an  hour  before  the  time  you  specified 
in  your  letter,  sir,"  said  Mistress  Conachar,  with  dignity. 
"But  I  will  spread  the  cloth." 

"Yes,  spread  it  and  be  done!"  returned  Walter  Mac- 
Walter,  striding  to  the  window,  and  standing  there  a  tall, 
gloomy  figure,  the  whip  still  clutched  nervously  in  his  right 
hand. 

Mistress  Conachar  erected  herself,  and  sailed  out  with 
the  stately  port  of  a  galleon  before  the  wind. 


"HOW    LONG,   0    LORD,   HOW    LONG?"   391 

'indeed,"  she  said,  indignantly,  "is  this  the  King  o' 
Muscovy  that  we  hae  gotten  at  Baxter's  ?  '  Spread  tlie 
cloth  and  be  done  !'  It's  not  likely  that  Elspeth  Conachar 
will  abide  where  her  conversation  is  not  esteemed  a  privi- 
leege.  Where's  that  guid-for-naething  Hoggie  Hangh — 
cot  at  the  auld  hoose,  ye  say,  wi'  mair  tourist  bodies  ?  I 
wonder  what's  ta'en  the  hale  warld  to  travel  at  Christmas. 
Never  was  sic  daft-like  ploys  heard  o'  in  my  young  days. 
Babbie,  tak'  ben  the  second  best  service.  Guid  kens  what 
sic  a  monster  micht  no  do  to  my  best  cheena.  Faith,  I'm 
heart-sorry  for  yon  puir  peetifn'-lookin'  thing  that  he  has 
for  a  wife.  She  appears  no  to  be  lang  for  this  warld.  An' 
gin  I  was  her  I  wadna  muckle  care,  wi'  siccan  a  girnin' 
Hottentot  for  a  man  !" 

When  Walter  Mac  Walter  was  left  alone  with  his  wife  he 
sat  down  opposite  her. 

<'You  do  not  ask  why  I  have  brought  you  here,"  he 
said  ;  "  I  know  your  play  and  pretence  of  meekness.  But, 
my  lady,  I  learned  from  a  source  you  cannot  guess  at  of 
your  letters  to  the  old  stone-breaker,  your  father.  I  doubt 
not  they  were  the  means  you  took  of  sending  my  money  to 
the  drunkard's  son.  Now  it  seems  that  I  cannot  watch 
you  closely  enough  in  your  own  house  at  Kirkoswald.  But 
I  can  here.  I  will  not  once  let  you  out  of  my  sight.  You 
shall  see  your  old  father  on  the  parish  before  yon  die. 
And  I  will  make  of  your  son  just  what  his  father  was.  I 
cannot  say  more  than  that !" 

Lilias  had  eaten  nothing,  and  now  sat  with  her  head 
turned  away  from  her  tormentor,  looking  into  the  fire  with 
an  expression  of  more  than  mortal  anguish. 

'' Hoio  long,  0  Lord,  hoiv  long?"  she  was  saying  within 
her  own  heart. 

And  it  was  not  to  be  long.  For  so  the  Lord  of  the  snow 
and  of  the  sea  and  of  the  heart  of  man  had  decreed. 

Walter  MacWalter  went  on.  His  cord  was  lengthened 
yet  a  little. 


393  KIT    KENNEDY 

'''And  let  me  tell  you  that  now  yon  are  in  a  place  where 
yon  can  do  nothing  to  help  your  beggar's  brat  or  alter  that 
which  is  coming  to  him.  I  saw  Sowerby  of  Cairn  Edward, 
the  other  day,  and  he  told  me  that  the  brat  was  already 
proving  the  blood  he  came  of.  He  is  spending  his  bursary 
money  like  water  in  the  vilest  places.  He  will  soon  come 
to  the  end  of  it  and  be  disgraced.  That  is  why  I  will  take 
good  care  that  you  do  not  send  him  any  more.  In  a  year 
I  will  see  him  back  at  the  hedge-root,  where  I  have  seen 
his  father  lie.  I  shall  live  to  have  him  sent  to  jail,  and 
you  shall  go  to  the  trial — Lilias,  pretty  Lilias  that  once 
flouted  and  despised  Walter  Mac  Walter.  Have  not  I  paid 
my  debts  in  full  ?" 

And  the  sound  of  his  voice  reached  the  ears  of  three 
Avho  listened  beneath  in  the  snow,  and  was  heard  also  by  a 
fourth,  who  stood  a  little  way  behind. 

"Aye,"  this  last  communed  with  himself,  "oot  o'  his 
mind,  I  wad  say  sae.  That's  never  the  voice  o'  a  man  in 
his  seven  senses.  Ye  may  coont  on  Hoggie  Hangh  to  keep 
an  e'e  on  him.  I'll  never  tak'  a  wink  o'  sleep  this  nicht 
wi'  that  puir  thing  in  his  poo'er." 

For  the  excellent  thought  had  come  to  Mr.  Bisset,  so 
soon  as  he  had  heard  Hoggie  describe  Walter  Mac  Walter 
as  a  "black -a- vised  hyena,"  that  they  should  take  the 
ostler  partly  into  their  confidence.  A  crisp  and  "  crunkly" 
pound -note  wonderfully  assisted  the  process,  and  the 
"Orra  Man's"  discriminating  appreciation  of  the  horses 
in  the  stable  beneath  the  auld  hoose  o'  Baxters  bought 
Hoggie  Haugh  body  and  soul. 

"  He's  gane  to  his  ain  bed  and  barred  his  door,  flingin' 
it  to  wi'  a  brainge  that  shook  the  hoose  !"  was  Hoggie's  last 
bulletin.  "I'll  listen  whiles  at  the  puir  lass's  window 
through  the  nicht,  and  gie  ye  a  cry  if  need  be." 

"  I  also  will  watch  with  you  !"  said  Christopher  Kennedy, 
B.A. 


CHAPTER   LII 

THE    NIGHT-WATCH 

LiLiAS  MacWalter  had  long  known  her  husband's  es- 
sential insanity.  For  years  he  had  dwelt  morbidly  upon 
her  past.  The  boy  Kit  Kennedy  was  to  MacWalter  the 
outward  sign  and  token  of  her  former  love  for  his  father. 
Of  a  cast  of  mind  originally  coarse  and  brutal,  without 
mental  or  moral  reserves  of  power,  Walter  MacWalter  luid 
grown  to  believe  that  his  chances  of  hap]3iness  depended 
upon  the  removal  of  the  boy  out  of  his  path,  and  for  this 
purpose  he  had  systematically  endeavored  to  separate  Lil- 
ias  and  her  son.  But  recently  an  idea  far  more  dangerous 
had  taken  its  place.  He  had  made  a  mistake.  The  wife 
herself  was  the  barrier  to  happiness.  The  son  must  be 
ruined.  The  mother  would  die  of  grief.  lie  himself  would 
be  free — or,  if  this  failed  him  or  proved  too  slow,  he  must 
discover  other  means  to  free  himself. 

His  return  to  places  familiar  to  him  in  his  boyhood,  his 
fits  of  alternate  kindliness  and  brutality  would,  to  a  medi- 
cal inan  accustomed  to  cases  of  delusion,  have  indicated 
influence  and  homicidal  mania,  and  have  diagnosed  Walter 
MacWalter  as  belonging  to  the  most  dangerous  class  of 
lunatics. 

Yet  he  was  a  man  of  money,  power,  and  responsibility. 
It  was  impossible  to  restrain  or  confine  him.  His  mental 
states  were  not  noted  save  by  his  wife,  and  she,  wearied 
and  made  even  indifferent  by  long-continued  cruelty,  mis- 
took his  moods  for  the  natural  bias  of  a  perverted  jealousy. 


394  KIT    KENNEDY 

though  a  specialist  on  the  alert  would  rather  have  noted 
tliem  as  strong  evidence  of  dementia.  There  are  lunatics 
who,  being  sane  in  the  ordinary  affairs  of  business  and  the 
outward  relations  of  mankind,  and  having  no  one  in  any 
sort  of  authority  over  them,  cannot  be  proved  to  be  insane 
till  some  overt  act  of  mania  suddenly  startles  their  world 
into  dreadful  knowledge  of  their  condition.  Such  maniacs 
are  perhaps  the  most  dangerous  of  all. 

It  was,  for  instance,  no  unusual  thing  for  Lilias  to  awake 
in  the  night  to  the  affrighting  consciousness  that  her  hus- 
band had  entered  her  room  and  was  standing  silently  by 
her  bedside  with  arms  folded  across  his  breast.  Hour 
after  hour  he  could  remain  so,  never  for  a  moment  remov- 
ing his  gaze  from  her  face.  And  then  as  the  gray  light  of 
the  morning  stole  into  the  fearful  chamber,  and  the  blinds 
edged  themselves  with  brighter  light,  he  would  steal  back 
to  his  own  room  on  tiptoe  and  fling  himself  upon  his  bed, 
still  fully  dressed,  only  to  repeat  the  performance  the  fol- 
lowing night. 

It  was  a  vigil  like  this,  for  the  first  time  spied  upon  by 
other  eyes  than  those  of  the  persecuted  woman,  who  had 
borne  her  trouble  so  silently  throughout  the  years,  that 
Walter  Mac  Walter  kept  that  stormy  night  of  midwinter  in 
the  inn  of  Baxter's  Folly  high  on  the  cliffs  of  Sandhaven. 

The  two  men,  watching  at  the  edges  of  the  blind 
through  which  the  feeble  glimmer  of  the  night-light 
shone  like  an  illumination,  saw  Walter  MacWalter  come 
in  and  stand  by  his  wife's  bed.  Motionless  for  a  full  hour 
they  watched  him.  Their  hands  Avere  on  the  window-sill 
ready  to  throw  up  the  sash  and  sj^ring  into  the  room  if  he 
should  lay  hands  upon  her. 

Presently  Lilias  moved  in  her  sleep  and  moaned  restless- 
ly. The  watcher  by  the  bedside  drew  back  a  little  into 
the  shadow  of  the  curtain.  Then,  as  she  became  still,  he 
again  approached  and,  swiftly  stooping,  glided  his  hand 
under  the  pillow. 


THE    NIGHT-WATCH  395 

He  brought  ont  in  his  hand  a  withered  spray  of  heather 
which  once  had  been  white.  At  the  sight  of  it  a  kind  of 
fury  took  possession  of  him.  He  stamped  his  stockinged 
foot  on  the  threadbare  carpet,  and  gnashed  his  teetli  as  he 
tore  the  dried  fibres  apart  and  scattered  the  dust-like  leaf 
meal  upon  the  floor. 

Lilias  MacAValter  turned  over  at  the  sound,  and  opened 
her  eyes  upon  the  startling  apparition  of  the  anger  of  her 
husband. 

"  AValter  !"  she  gasped,  not  yet  fully  awaked  from  sleep. 
*'  Walter  !"     And  could  say  no  more. 

And  still  the  men  at  the  window  watched  with  their 
liands  tense  upon  the  chill  wood  of  the  window-frame. 
The  Classical  Master  put  his  hand  behind  him  to  feel  his 
revolver  easy  in  his  hip-pocket.  But  without  a  word,  or 
once  removing  the  terrible  fixity  of  his  gaze  from  that  of 
the  woman,  Walter  MacWaltor  backed  to  the  door  and  so 
disappeared. 

And  Lilias  lay  thus  hour  after  hour,  staring  at  the 
blank  black  oblong  of  the  door  through  which  her  hus- 
band had  disappeared,  her  lips  and  throat  not  only  parched 
but  dessiccated,  her  brain  almost  paralyzed,  her  soul  un- 
der the  influence  of  such  deadly  fear  that  she  could  not 
even  pray  the  prayer  so  familiar  to  her — the  eternal  appeal 
of  the  sufferer  to  Him  who,  sitting  at  the  helm  of  the 
Universe,  yet  permits  the  suffering  to  continue — "  How 
long,  0  Lord,  how  long  ?" 

But  now  it  was  not  to  be  so  very  long. 

The  light  came  clearer.  The  day  broke.  It  was  Lilias 
Mac  Walter's  Christmas  morning. 

That  morning  was  Christmas  morning  over  all  the  world. 
With  the  dawn  the  air  had  grown  keen.  The  soft  breath 
of  the  cyclone  had  quite  passed.  Glittering  frost  had 
fallen  with  the  dropping  of  the  wind  upon  the  hardy  hol- 
lies and  stunted  laurels  around  Baxter's  Folly.     The  snow 


39G  KIT    KENNEDY 

had  not  drifted  deeply,  and  especially  on  a  slope  so  wind- 
swept as  that  of  Baxter's  Ness  it  was  nowhere  more  than  a 
crust ;  while  save  for  a  wreath  or  two  behind  dykes,  the 
edge  of  the  great  cliffs  which  stand  out  into  tlie  German 
Ocean  all  the  way  to  Sandhaven  were  blown  wholly  clear. 

It  was  twelve  of  the  clock  on  as  fine  a  December  day 
as  ever  lighted  up  the  white  face  of  this  northern  land 
before  life  or  sound  appeared  in  the  rooms  occupied  by 
Walter  MacWalter  and  his  wife.  Breakfast  had  been 
served  at  nine,  but  at  eleven  the  dishes  had  not  been 
touched.  For  Babbie  MacGregor,  the  maid-of-all-work, 
had  given  so  terrifying  an  account  of  the  dark-faced  man 
Avho  sat  at  the  table-end  crumbling  the  "dottle"  of  his 
pipe  upon  the  table-cloth  and  among  the  very  dishes,  and 
had  growled  at  her  to  "  let  that  fire  alone  for  a  meddle- 
some fool "  when  she  went  near  to  sweep  up  the  scattered 
ashes,  that  it  was  thought  best  to  leave  everything  alone 
for  the  present. 

Hoggie,  who  did  not  seem  to  have  anything  to  do  on 
Christmas  morning,  wandered  to  and  fro  near  the  windows 
of  the  New  House.  He  was  prepared  to  assert  that  he  was 
pruning  the  rosebushes — that  is,  if  any  one  had  asked  him 
what  he  was  finding  to  do  there.  But  no  one  took  any 
particular  notice  of  Hoggie. 

The  *'  Auld  Hoose  "  lay  apparently  untenanted,  save  for 
a  pew  of  reek  which  rose  straight  up  into  the  Avindless  air. 
It  was  so  still  that  when  Mrs.  Conachar's  Brahma  rooster 
crowed  suddenly  in  the  yard  it  brought  a  trickle  of  snow 
sliding  down  the  roof  of  the  stable.  Only  a  low  growling 
sough  very  far  away  could  be  heard,  which  was  the  sea 
calling  restlessly  at  the  foot  of  Baxter's  Heuchs. 

Punctually  at  twelve  the  door  of  the  New  House  opened, 
and  a  little  wreath  of  snow  with  a  wavy  crest,  which  had 
been  making  a  Cambridge  blue  shadow  upon  itself,  col- 
lapsed inwards  on  the  mat.  Walter  Mac  Walter  held  the 
door  open  for  his  wife  to  pass.    And  Lilias  came  out,  look- 


THE    NIGIIT-WATCII  397 

ing  slender  and  even  girlish  in  her  plain  black  dress  out- 
lined against  the  spotless  snow. 

The  pair  turned  into  the  high  road  together,  watched, 
however,  from  every  window  of  the  inn.  The  *'Auld 
Hoose"  stood  blank  and  silent  without  apparent  observer. 
Only  a  black  lump  sped  seaward  behind  a  dykeback  where 
the  snow  was  lying  thickest.  It  consisted  of  the  hunched 
shoulders  of  Iloggie  Haugh. 

"This  way  V  said  Walter  Mac  Walter,  cheerfully. 

And  his  wife  turned  obediently  at  his  word. 

They  had  not  proceeded  far,  however,  when  the  snow 
grew  deeper  in  the  hollows,  and  the  progress  of  Lilias  be- 
came so  painful  that  her  husband,  who  strode  on  before, 
waxed  irritable  and  impatient. 

"Cannot  you  go  faster  than  that  ?"  he  growled.  "Here, 
take  my  hand  !" 

But  she  shrank  from  the  touch  of  his  fingers  and  strug- 
gled on,  sinking  to  the  knees  at  every  step. 

"  This  will  never  do,"  he  said  ;  "turn  back  and  we  will 
get  the  mare  and  trap." 

"Here — fellow,"  he  shouted  at  the  entrance  of  the  yard, 
"where  is  that  drunken  scoundrel  of  an  ostler  ?" 

But  Hoggie  was  far  out  of  sight  or  hearing. 

"I  will  put  the  beast  in  myself  !"  he  said,  angrily. 

And  striding  from  door  to  door  round  the  yard  he  soon 
found  the  black  mare,  and  began  with  the  strong  assured 
fingers  of  an  expert  to  harness  lier. 

The  dog-cart  was  sheltered  in  the  wide,  bare  house  which 
in  its  time  had  held  many  a  snowed-up  coach  with  his 
Majesty's  Royal  red  and  gold  on  the  panels.  Walter  Mac- 
AValter  drew  it  out  by  the  shafts,  and  had  the  whole  turnout 
ready  as  quickly  and  as  neatly  as  any  professional  yardman. 

"  Get  in  I"  The  order  to  his  wife  came  like  a  military 
command. 

But  this  was  too  much  for  one  of  the  watching  contin- 
gent behind  the  blinds  of  Baxter's  Inn.     Mrs.  Conachar 


398  KIT    KENNEDY 

came  out  at  the  back  door,  a  silver  platter  in  her  hand  and 
a  paper  folded  upon  it, 

"■  Will  ye  be  pleased  to  look  at  this,  sir,  before  ye  gang 
cot  o'  my  yaird.     It  is  the  custom  of  the  hoose  !" 

"  What  is  this  ?"  The  words  came  gruffly  as  Walter 
Mac  Walter  tied  a  new  knot  upon  his  whiplash. 

"  The  accoont,  sir,  if  your  honor  pleases  \" 

Walter  Mac  Walter  erected  his  head  with  a  certain  gest- 
ure of  surprised  contempt. 

"  I  am  not  a  trickster,"  he  said,  very  proud  and  high. 

"  It  is  a  custom  o'  the  hoose,  sir,"  repeated  Mistress 
Conachar,  fearless  and  implacable  where  money  was  con- 
cerned. Babbie  MacGregor  said  afterwards  that  she  was 
"  fair  feared  to  hear  her  mistress  speakin'  that  gate  to  him, 
and  the  muckle  black  hyeny  lookin'  as  if  he  wad  hae  etten 
her.     Oh,  if  I  had  only  jaloused  !" 

"  I  am  going  for  a  little  drive  with  my  wife,"  said  Mac- 
Walter.  "To  look  at  the  view  from  the  cliffs.  I  am  not 
going  to  run  away  !" 

"N"a,  but  I  dinna  ken  but  your  horse  micht !"  said  the 
stout-hearted  landlady,  still  extending  the  silver  salver. 

Babbie  remarked  that  a  "  reesle-reesU  ran  up  her  back 
like  pittin'  a  clean  sark  on  "  at  her  mistress's  words.  She 
"couldna  describe  it  itherwise,  but  she  kenned  it  was  a 
warnin'  !" 

Walter  MacWalter  pulled  a  thick  wad  of  bank-notes  out 
of  his  pocket.  He  selected  a  couple,  throwing  them  to 
Mrs.  Conachar  with  scorn,  and  crying,  ''There,  woman, 
Avill  that  content  you  ?"  he  helped  his  wife  into  the  dog-cart. 
;  "For  the  present,  sir,  I  thank  you  !"  replied  the  land- 
lady, with  strictly  non-committal  curtsey. 

"Til  gie  him  'Spread  the  cloth  and  be  done' !  ISTa,  na 
— the  black-a-vised  gorilla  doesna  breathe  that  can  say  the 
like  o'  that  to  Elspeth  Conachar,  though  her  Jeems,  puir 
man,  is  dead  and  in  his  restin'  grave  thae  fourteen  years 
come  Martinmas  !" 


CHAPTER  LIII 


Baxter's  heuchs 


DuRiiSTG  their  short  drive  to  the  heights  of  Baxter's 
Heuchs,  Walter  MacWalter  talked  to  his  Avife  as  he  had 
done  during  the  first  months  of  their  married  life.  He 
even  pointed  out  places  of  interest  familiar  to  him  from 
boyhood.  There  was  Sandhaven  itself,  glittering  in  the 
morning  light,  a  water  -  color  in  white  and  red  as  the  wet 
tiles  took  the  sun  and  the  warmth  beneath  melted  the  thin 
snow.  The  smoke  was  blowing  blue  and  gossamer  fine 
from  it.  He  showed  her  the  fishing -boats  bending  their 
sails  to  fare  forth  from  the  harbor-mouth,  and  the  distant 
light-house,  a  pillar  of  cloud  by  day,  of  fire  by  night,  rising 
from  the  sea  as  the  low  sun  of  winter  shone  down  on  the 
myriad  glasses  of  its  crystal  crown. 

"  Now  Ave  will  go  across  the  fields  to  the  finest  view  of 
all !  AVe  have  not  had  a  holiday  like  this  for  a  long  time  !" 
he  said,  cheerfully,  leaping  down  and  tying  the  reins  to  a 
stone  gate-post. 

Though  the  mare  had  scarcely  come  half  a  mile,  he  slung 
the  bag  of  oats  over  her  nose,  and  left  her  to  feed  at  the 
entering  in  of  the  bare  field  which  divides  the  high  road 
to  Sandhaven  from  the  yet  more  bald  and  wind-swept  cliff- 
edge. 

"  This  way,  Lilias,"  he  said,  reaching  his  Avife  a  hand  to 
help  her  over  a  great  Avreath  of  snoAV  which  undulated 
behind  the  dyke  and  rose  into  a  final  swirl  that  pushed  a 
white  nose  a  yard  or  two  through  the  gate  itself. 


400  KIT    KENNEDY 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  spoken  her  Christian  name 
in  kindness  for  ten  years. 

She  did  not  reply,  but  gave  him  a  gloved  hand,  and  they 
went  np  the  field  without  a  word,  A  curious  kind  of 
amazed  apathy  had  come  over  her.  She  even  smiled  to 
think  how  little  she  cared  what  should  happen  to  her. 

They  reached  the  highest  part  of  Baxter's  Heuchs,  from 
which  the  cliff  began  to  drop,  first  in  a  little  short  slope  of 
bare  gray  turfage  to  the  brink,  and  then  in  a  four  hundred 
foot  fall,  sheer  down  upon  the  myriad  flashing  facets  of  the 
restless  winter  sea. 

There  was  haze  to  seaward,  like  the  moonlight  which 
dwells  in  a  large  opal  when  you  hold  it  so  that  the  pris- 
matic colors  are  not  seen.  The  sea  was  blue  and  calm  be- 
neath, the  waves  the  merest  dancing  dimplings.  But  an 
intermittent  heave  and  growl  told  that  a  swell  was  running 
far  into  the  caves  which  undermined  the  huge  headland  of 
Baxter's  Heuchs. 

Lilias  shivered  a  little.  She  put  the  shawl,  which  she 
carried  across  her  arm,  about  her  shoulders.  She  felt 
somehow  that  the  sea  looked  chilly. 

''  Yes,  the  view  is  fine,"  said  her  husband,  looking  out 
underneath  his  hand,  "  but  I  know  a  spot  where  you  can 
see  the  mouth  of  the  Guillemots'  Cave,  with  the  sea  run- 
ning straight  into  it.  I  have  not  seen  it  for  twenty  years. 
But  I  think  I  can  find  the  place.  It  should  be  just  by 
that  little  pinnacle  on  which  the  raven  is  sitting  !" 

Lilias  shrank  back  a  little,  as  if  unwilling  to  go  any 
nearer  the  verge. 

"  I  am  tired,"  she  said  ;  "  I  think  I  would  like  to  go 
back  to  the  inn." 

"  Nonsense,"  he  cried,  hilariously,  without,  however, 
looking  at  her.  "  It  is  a  glorious  morning,  and  I  am  go- 
ing to  show  you  all  the  places  I  knew  as  a  boy.  I  remem- 
ber walking  here  with — " 

He  broke  off  short. 


BAXTER'S    IIEUCllS  401 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  he  said,  abrnptly,  with  a  quick 
change  of  voice.  And  lie  seized  her  fingers  in  a  grip  like 
a  vice. 

There  was  a  noise  near  him,  a  stone  dislodged  itself  from 
a  crevice  and  trickled  slowly  down  the  bald  gray  slope. 
Then  with  a  quickening  leap  it  sped  over  the  utmost  cliff 
edge  and  fell — fell — fell — far  out  of  sight  and  hearing  into 
a  deep  gulf  below. 

Walter  MacWalterheldup  his  left  hand  and  inclined  his 
ear  to  listen. 

He  listened  in  vain.  No  splash  came  up,  nor  any  sound 
save  the  low  booming  from  the  caverns  under. 

''  Four  hundred  feet,"  he  said,  with  a  kind  of  mounting 
exultation,  "  four  hundred  feet — and  then  !" 

They  went  on,  Lilias  with  her  fine  boots  growing  wet 
and  discomfortable  as  the  sharp  slats  cut  them  and  the 
snow  sifted  in.  Afterwards  it  appeared  to  her  strange  that 
at  the  moment  her  chief  thought  Avas  a  feeling  of  regret 
that  she  had  not  put  on  a  stronger  pair. 

The  edge  of  the  cliff  was  thrown  up  in  a  sort  of  bluff 
like  the  crest  of  a  breaking  wave.  A  little  wind-worn  gal- 
lery ran  beneath,  aided  in  the  task  of  keeping  its  position 
by  the  original  backward  thrust  of  the  strata. 

Walter  MacWaltcr  had  been  holding  his  wife  by  the  arm 
as  they  went  up  the  last  steep  ascent.  Now  they  paused 
on  the  very  edge.  The  world  seemed  suddenly  to  grow 
hollow  beneath  them.  And  the  heart  of  Lilias — nay,  all 
her  body — seemed  hollow  also.  Her  instinct  was  to  clutch 
the  arm  of  her  companion,  and  only  an  intense  j^ersonal 
loathing  kept  her  from  yielding  to  it. 

"  Come  here  and  I  will  show  you  the  mouth  of  the  Guil- 
lemots' Cave  !"  he  cried,  in  an  excited  tone. 

He  almost  dragged  Lilias  to  a  lower  jutting  pinna- 
cle. "  See,"  he  said,  pointing  downwards  into  the  gulf 
with  his  finger,  "  they  are  flying  out  and  in  like  spir- 
its— like  ghosts  of  the  dead — while  the  sea  calls  beneath. 

26 


402  KIT    KENNEDY 

Four  hundred  feet!  Look  — look  I  They  are  beckoning 
us !" 

His  voice  rose  to  a  shriek  and  he  compelled  her  to  look 
over  the  verge. 

As  she  did  so  he  loosened  his  hold  on  her  arm,  and  ap- 
peared to  stumble  with  all  his  weight  against  her.  She 
fell  forward — outward — downward — and  knew  no  more. 


CHAPTER   LIV 

WALTEK  MAC  WALTER  MEETS   MARY   BISSET 

When"  she  came  to  herself  Lilias  found  that  she  was 
supported  in  arms  which  clasped  her  firmly  about  the  waist. 
Her  head  lay  on  some  one's  shoulder.  This  was  very 
strange,  yet  somehow,  as  the  buzzing  in  her  ears  ceased, 
she  seemed  to  find  herself  in  some  strangely  familiar  place. 
She  felt  an  incurious  content  steal  over  her.  She  was  quite 
ready  to  stay  where  she  was  forever. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "is  that  you  ?" 

But  even  as  she  said  it  she  knew  that  her  mother  was 
not  there. 

Then  her  eyes  opened  upon  a  world  of  dazzling  white- 
ness, upon  the  blue  of  a  brilliant  sky  infinitely  removed. 

Then  her  eyes  lighted  upon  Walter  Mac  Walter.  He  was 
standing  above  her  bedside  looking  at  her  as  she  had  seen 
him  do  last  night.     She  shrieked  aloud. 

"Oh,  take  him  away — do  not  let  him  come  near  me !" 

Then  a  voice  spoke  in  her  ear,  a  voice  she  knew,  yet 
could  not  remember  whose  it  was.  It  said,  "  He  will  never 
come  near  you  any  more." 

She  perceived  that  two  men  whom  slie  had  never  seen 
held  her  husband  by  the  arms,  while  her  son  Kit,  very 
hale  and  strong,  stood  behind  with  a  strange,  alert,  tri- 
umphant look  on  his  face. 

But  the  voice  behind  belonged  to  some  one  else. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  she  faltered,  trying  weakly  to  turn  her 
head. 


404  KIT    KENxN^EDY 

"  Lilias,  I  am  your  hnsband  !"  said  Christopher  Ken- 
nedy, laying  her  gently  back  on  the  grass  and  looking  down 
into  her  eyes. 

Joy  does  not  kill,  as  the  story-books  aver.  Perhaps 
for  the  reason  that  when  it  comes  suddenly  and  unexpect- 
edly like  an  angel  from  heaven,  it  is  not  at  first  believed  in. 

Slowly  Lilias  became  aware  that  the  elder  of  the  two 
men  who  held  her  husband  was  speaking.  The  sense  of 
his  Avords  seemed  to  come  to  her  from  an  infinite  dis- 
tance. 

"  Listen,  Walter  Mac  Walter,"  he  was  saying.  "  You 
know  me.  You  have  known  me  all  your  life.  I  am  Daniel 
Bisset,  brother  of  Mary  Bisset,  your  dead— your  murdered 
wife." 

Walter  Mac  Walter  tried  to  thrust  his  guards  from  him, 
but  they  held  him  fast,  Iloggie  Haugh  hanging  upon  his 
arm  with  the  grip  of  a  giant,  and  Kit  Kennedy  standing 
behind  ready  to  assist  in  case  of  need. 

''Yes — murdered,"  said  Daniel  Bisset,  solemnly.  "We 
suspected  it  before.  We  know  it  now.  From  the  place 
from  which  Mary  Bisset  fell  you  would  have  thrown  Lilias 
Kennedy  to-day,  even  as  twenty  years  ago  you  sent  my 
sister  to  her  death." 

"  Lilias  Kennedy  !"  The  words  came  scornfully  from 
the  lips  of  the  baffled  madman. 

"Aye,  Lilias  Kennedy,  no  other,"  said  the  Classical  Mas- 
ter, coming  forward — for  his  charge  was  now  sufficiently 
recovered  to  sit  up  (and,  after  tlie  manner  of  women,  begin 
to  arrange  her  hair),  "  She  is  my  wife,  not  yours.  Alex- 
ander Strong,  of  Edinburgh,  has  found  poor  Nick  French 
whom  we  thought  dead.  He  has  kept  the  original  mar- 
riage lines  of  Christopher  Kennedy  and  Lilias  Armour. 
So  long  as  I  thought  her  happy  I  would  never  have  come 
forward.  I  would  have  kept  myself  where  she  would  never 
have  knoAvn.     But  now — " 


MAC  WALTER    MEETS    MAUY    BISSET   405 

''  It  is  a  lie — a  lie — a  devil's  lie,"  cried  AValter  Mac  Wal- 
ter, furiously,  foaming  at  the  mouth. 

Then  Daniel  Bisset  spoke  again. 

"  It  is  a  truth  which  the  judges  of  the  land  will  believe, 
as  they  will  believe  the  witness  of  us  four  men — when  you, 
Walter  Mac  Walter,  are  tried  for  the  attempted  murder  of 
Lilias  Kennedy  and  the  accomplished  murder  of  Mary  Bis- 
set,  my  sister  and  your  wife  !" 

With  a  quick  access  of  maniacal  strength  the  prisoner 
cast  his  guards  this  Avay  and  that  from  him.  Even  then 
he  would  have  sprung  upon  Lilias  but  for  the  shining  tube 
of  a  revolver  which  looked  at  him  from  the  right  hand  of 
the  Classical  Master.  He  heard  his  guards  rushing  at  him 
from  behind.  With  a  quick  swing  he  turned,  dashed  be- 
tween them,  knocked  Kit  down  flat  on  his  back,  and  run 
along  by  the  edge  of  the  clifl:  in  the  direction  of  the  gate  at 
which  he  had  left  the  black  mare  tethered. 

But  at  the  first  dip  of  the  ground,  in  a  little  sheltered 
hollow,  he  came  upon  a  girl  sitting.  She  held  her  hat  in 
her  hand  as  if  enjoying  the  winter  sunshine,  and  as  he  ran 
towards  her  she  rose  Avitli  a  startled  look  on  her  pale  face. 

The  maniac  stopped  dead  in  his  career  with  a  strange 
gasping  cry. 

"Mary  Bisset !  In  God's  name,  Mary  Bisset !  Touch 
me  not.     Out  of  my  way,  fiend  !"  he  shouted. 

And  swerving  to  the  left  to  avoid  the  wraith  of  his  vic- 
tim, he  stumbled  upon  the  imminent  verge  of  the  cliff,  and 
fell  outward  and  forward.  He  clutched  at  nothing  as  he 
fell,  and  as  it  were  wrenched  himself  round,  till  his  dis- 
torted face  looked  up  at  the  accusing  phantom  who  had 
confronted  him  so  startlingly.  That  face  vanished  like  a 
falling  stone. 

And  from  below  there  came  an  agonized  cry  of  ''Mary 
Bisset !     Mary  Bisset !' 

Then  silence. 


I" 


EPILOGUE 

The  fragments  mnst  be  briefly  gathered  np.  Lilias  Ken- 
nedy began  a  new  life  from  that  day  forth.  Her  husband, 
long  tried  in  the  fire,  had  come  forth  refined.  These  two 
went  to  the  South  of  England  for  the  winter,  and  Daniel 
Bisset  accompanied  them  "for  his  health's  sake,"  he  said. 
But  the  Classical  Master  knew  better. 

"I  thank  you,  Daniel,"  he  said  ;  "next  year  I  shall  be 
able  to  walk  without  swaddling  bands — by  the  blessing  of 
God  !" 

"Amen  to  that !"  said  the  Infidel  Lecturer. 
Mary  Bisset  gave  up  her  situation  and  Avent  with  them, 
but  her  mother  refused  to  quit  Edinburgh. 

"I  will  keep  the  house  open  and  the  fireside  warm 
against  your  return  !"  she  said. 

Dick  listed  in  the  Scots  Greys  which  were  quartered  at 
Piershill,  and  his  father  refused  to  buy  him  off  in  spite  of 
his  mother's  many  prayers. 

"  It  is  his  one  chance  !"  he  said. 

Kit  went  back  to  his  college  course,  and  when  he  came 
in  spring  to  the  Cottage  under  the  Crae  Wood  he  had  two 
medals  to  show  the  Elder.  But  he  had  heard  news  that 
had  saddened  him.  With  one  of  the  curious  freaks  of  vio- 
lent and  passion-driven  men  Walter  Mac  Walter  had  left  all 
his  property  to  Mary  Bisset,  the  only  daughter  of  his  dead 
wife.  Kit  felt  that  now  Mary  was  separated  from  him  by 
a  great  gulf  fixed. 

He  said  this  to  Betty,  to  whom  he  communicated  all  his 
woes. 


EPILOGUE  -i07 

''Nonsense  —  try  her,"  said  that  experienced  person; 
''Kob  tried  mo  a  score  o'  times  Jifore  I  wad  hae  him. 
Only  a  fool  ever  takes  it  for  granted  that  a  woman  will 
say  '  No ' !" 

And  Kit  took  Betty's  advice. 

It  Avas  the  bright  heart  of  May  when  Mary  Bisset  came 
to  Kirkoswald  with  her  adopted  father.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Christopher  Kennedy  were  already  there,  putting  the  place 
in  some  sort  of  order.  They  had  refused  to  remain,  how- 
ever, in  spite  of  many  invitations. 

"  I  can  maintain  my  own  wife,  thank  God,"  said  Chris- 
topher Kenned}^,  Senior,  with  some  pride.  "I  have  been 
appointed  Classical  Master  at  the  Edinburgh  Athenaeum. 
It  is  not  a  great  school,  but  it  is  better  on  that  account  for 
one  so  long  out  of  practice.  Lilias  and  I  have  taken  a 
house,  and  we  start  work  after  the  holidays.  Daniel  will 
be  near  us." 

Mary  Bisset  was  infinitely  distressed  that  Lilias  Avould 
not  consent  to  receive  any  of  the  inheritance  of  Walter 
Mac  Walter. 

"  I  am  not  his  widow.  I  never  was  your  father's  Avife. 
I  will  have  nothing  that  ever  belonged  to  him.  It  is  yours 
by  right  and  by  gift.  But  if  you  put  my  father  and  mother 
back  in  the  Dornal  they  Avill  die  happy." 

And  so  it  Avas  arranged,  Rob  and  Betty  jointly  and  sev- 
erally agreeing  to  work  the  farm  for  them. 

"  But  I  Avad  like  to  see  the  Eob  or  the  Betty  that  Avill 
mak'  me  itlier  than  mistress  o'  my  ain  hoose,"  said  Kit's 
grandmother. 

"Fegs,"  said  AVillic  Gilroy,  Avho  had  come  to  see  them 
comfortably  settled,  "ye  are  o'  the  same  mind  as  my 
wife." 

"What,  Willie,  ye  are  never  married  again  ?" 

The  Sheriff's  officer  admitted  the  accusation  Avith  a  shake 
of  his  head. 


408  KIT    KENNEDY 

^■^Wha  is't,  Willie  ?"  cried  Betty  Lanclsborougli,  who  was 

naturally  much  interested. 

"It's  juist  Meg  Patterson  frae  Clairbrand," 

''But  she's  surely  no  young.     AVillie,  hoo  auld  is  she  ?" 

"God  kens/'  said  "Willie.     "I  misdoot  she'll  never  dee 

decently,  this  yin.     I  think  I'll  hae  to  shoot  her  !" 

Kit  found  Mary  in  the  renovated  drawing-room  of  Kirk- 
oswald.  She  was  looking  prettier  than  ever  before,  though 
very  simply  dressed.  But  the  radiance  of  her  eyes  seemed 
somehow  to  fill  the  room,  even  as  once  it  had  filled  Kit's 
heart  under  the  Edinburgh  gas-lamps. 

He  took  her  hand  and  bent  his  head  towards  her. 

"  What  is  it,  Kit  ?"  she  said. 

"You  are  a  great  lady  now,"  he  said,  very  low.  "  You 
are  the  owner  of  all  this  !"  • 

The  pretty  girl  was  silent  a  little,  looking  up  at  his 
drooping  head  with  a  singularly  sweet  smile.  Then  she 
went  a  little  nearer  to  him. 

"Ask  me  if  there  is  nothing  else  I  would  like  better  to 
be  !"  she  said  at  last. 

Then  Kit  asked,  and  found  that  there  was. 


THE  END 


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